


A Slow Eclipse

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Dom!Philippe, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Rough Oral Sex, Rutting, S1 spoilers, Sibling Incest, Skinny Dipping, Sub!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: Feeling overwhelmed by the responsibilities of kingship, Louis asks his brother for help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all the folks who supported me on this venture: the lovely folks at tumblr, my SmuttyLadies, and all the rest. The fic is pretty much written, so I should be posting a chapter ever day or two, assuming my betas don't demand rewrites in the later chapters. As always, I forget stuff at the end when I tag, so I'll probably be adding to those.
> 
> Takes place after Season 1, so spoilers for that whole season. I started writing this before seeing Season 2, so it has nothing to do with what happens in that season.
> 
> I don't own these people, blah, blah, blah.

**By Vera d'Auriac**

Philippe skimmed across the surface of the pool, and for a time Louis could not pull himself away from the sight to announce his unexpected arrival. With everyone gone from Saint-Cloud, Philippe swam nude (although, perhaps at Saint-Cloud, everyone always took to the waters thus). He was a graceful swimmer and Louis had always enjoyed watching him in the water where he was so at home, buoyed effortlessly along. Philippe dove under the water, curving his back just above the water line, before disappearing like a sleek dolphin beneath the surface. Louis really could watch his brother floating about all day, but he had come to Saint-Cloud to talk. In point of fact, Louis had done a great deal more than simply ride ten miles for this chance. He ought not waste time.

Striding forward as though he had not been stopped behind the shrubbery watching, Louis approached the pool with his head high, a smile on his lips. “Brother,” he announced when Philippe resurfaced. “So nice to see you taking advantage of this beautiful day.”

Philippe flipped over and floated on his back, peering at his brother from the far side of the pool shaped like a club in a deck of cards. For several long, painful seconds, he said nothing, just shifted to tread water and stare. Finally, he came to a conclusion and smiled. “You should join me.”

“That sounds magnificent,” Louis said, partially meaning it, but never being the natural swimmer Philippe was. “But there seems to be a shortage of swimming clothes at Saint-Cloud, and by the time some were found for me, you would look a wrinkled old man.”

“Who needs swimming clothes? Strip and jump in like we did when we were boys in the river.”

“I hardly think I can do that any longer.”

“You’re the _king_. You can do anything you want. I assure you, we are entirely alone, if that is your concern. The Chevalier went off to Paris, and somehow, most of the silly boys who were here preferred to follow him there. The rest of them I kicked out so I might have some peace and quiet.”

“I did not mean to disturb your solitude,” Louis lied. “If you would like me to leave, I will gladly do so.”

Philippe laughed. “You’ve come all the way here, I assume for some reason. The least you can do is have a swim and stay the night. You!” This last Philippe addressed to a servant behind Louis. “Go get his majesty a robe for when he exits the pool. And see that his things are put in his room.”

Louis untied the lace at his throat. “Not my room,” he said. “I believe there is a room that connects to your own. If we are truly alone here, we should stay together instead of at opposite ends of the palace.”

“Perfect,” Philippe announced before swimming toward where Louis undressed at the edge of the pool. He slowed his stroke and poked his head up. “Did you not bring Bontemps? Should I call someone back to help you?”

Louis shook his head. “I rode off with two guards on horseback. I wanted my visit to be as simple as possible.”

“Pierre, help his majesty,” Philippe ordered the one servant who remained.

Louis thought of sending the man away—he had come here to do for himself after all—but the man was already here, and it had been a long ride. Perhaps next time, he would refuse and undress himself. For now, he would relax and join his brother for a swim, no quibbling over the removal of his clothes. 

While Louis was being stripped, Philippe floated on his back in little circles in the middle of the pool. Louis watched him, carefree and happy, and wondered if perhaps like the famous waters at a holy shrine, the pool at Saint-Cloud might heal him as well. Once he was finally naked, he stood at the edge of the pool as Philippe flipped around to look at him and smile. Louis grinned back and made to put a toe in the water. “The water is warm?”

“It feels good,” giggled Philippe. “Race you to the side?”

Louis stepped in, and to his warm skin, the water felt decidedly chill. Yet, he would not let Philippe win a race uncontested, even if he was the stronger swimmer. “It will be a pleasure to have you join me there,” Louis said, before he dived in and swam for the left side of the pool. Of course, Philippe had not specified which side of the pool, so Louis seized his one advantage and set off for the side Philippe was not facing.

But Louis soon lost his slight lead. Philippe was too good a swimmer and too acclimated to the water. And yet when they met at the edge, Philippe laughing and wiping water from his face, Louis did not care that he had lost. He only cared that he was once more with his brother after too long apart.

“Welcome to Saint-Cloud, brother,” Philippe said, kissing Louis’s cheek, his hands resting on Louis’s shoulders. “I’m glad to see you. I,” he hesitated, but then a bittersweet smile formed on his lips, “I mean it when I say this is a welcome surprise. I’m glad you are here. Glad you could get away. I was genuinely relieved when I heard the Dauphin was safe, but still, I never expected a social call. Or is that not what this is?”

Louis allowed Philippe to show all of the affection—not touching him back or kissing his cheek in return. But he did smile so that his brother would know he, too, was pleased and here with no motives that should worry him. Although Louis knew that to be potentially inaccurate. “My son’s return has been a great blessing. And as far as getting away from Versailles, well, as you said yourself, if my presence is required, they need only send up a firework, so why not pay a call on my brother.”

Philippe snorted.

“How have you been?” Louis asked as he floated lazily back toward the middle of the pool.

“Oh, fine, I suppose,” answered Philippe, taking a stroke to pull even at Louis’s side. They drifted for a while, Louis waiting for Philippe to say more, since he so clearly desired to. Finally, he reached out, rested his fingertips on Philippe’s upper arm. His brother brushed the wet hair out of his face and turned toward him, a frown marring his lips. “I miss her. I can’t find a way forward that will make me happy. I have been miserable. This morning, waking up in the house, completely alone, it felt like a relief, but crushing at the same time. I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here.”

Louis sighed and patted his brother’s arm. “Then I am doubly pleased I decided to come see you. Versailles had been less without you.”  
  
Philippe smiled like a shy little boy who does not know how to take a compliment. He swam ahead several strokes, and Louis quickly flipped over to catch up with him. When they were once more floating, Philippe said, “So, why did you come? I know you said the trip was not far or difficult, and yet you came all the same.”

“To spend time with you.”

Philippe chuckled. “You simply woke up this morning and said to Colbert, ‘I hope you don’t mind running the government for a while. I am going to make a social call.’”

“More or less. Why shouldn’t I? If I am king, then at least sometimes I should be able to do as I please, and it pleases me a great deal to spend some time alone with my brother.”

They smiled at one another, and Louis rolled around, a lightness now within him that buoyed his body as much as his spirit. But when he finished his roll and once again faced his brother, Philippe’s countenance had turned murderous. “What has come over you?” Louis asked.

“You said you came here to spend time alone with me.”

“Yes. That is why I only came with two guards instead of even the tiniest part of the court.”

“But how did you know my home would be empty?” Philippe shifted so that he was upright, treading water as opposed to floating. “You’re rather lucky that the Chevalier and all of my other guests vanished just before your arrival.”

This realization was the one thing Louis had dreaded. He knew his brother was unraveling his scheme and would soon pull out the final thread, and yet Louis did not want to cede defeat. “What? You said you asked the last of your guests to leave yesterday.”

Philippe smacked the water. “I asked the last to leave on the suggestion of my dresser, who if I’m not mistaken, received a letter from his brother, your dresser, just before suggesting it. Unbelievable!”

“What are you talking about?” Louis said, knowing Philippe understood everything.

“The Chevalier’s business in Paris, let me guess—it will take as long as you decide. Are you to send a letter when you’re done with me?”

“I do not see why you are so upset. I wished to see my brother alone. To spend some time with you without anyone else disturbing us.”

Philippe’s lips pinched together as he shook his head. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand why I object to you manipulating my life for your own ends. It would never occur to you to simply _ask_! No. You have to send my lover away with some ruse, and then—what? Bribe? Intimidate?—my staff to get what you want, never bothering to think about what I might want.”

“You said earlier that you were miserable.”

Philippe swam away in a huff, if one might swim in such a manner. Louis frowned at their familiar pattern—Philippe frustrating him until he became cruelly blunt, even hurtful. The question was how they would patch it up. Louis would allow his brother to vent for, perhaps, half an hour, and then send a message that he was looking forward to dining together, and he wondered what time they ate at Saint-Cloud. It would be as much an apology as they ever offered each other.

For now, Louis struggled to keep himself afloat as he watched Philippe stomp out of the pool, water streaming off his body, splashing from his shining hair, dripping a path inside as he refused the robe offered to him. “No. Save that for his majesty. I don’t need it.” And so he continued to walk into the palace, wet and naked.

***

 _Why are you still surprised at anything he would do? Whatever Louis wants is what Louis gets. Never mind that it completely up ends your life_.

Philippe would have happily continued to rage in his mind all the way to his room. But, of course, some chambermaid happened to be passing the parlor where he entered, and she gasped and dropped her laundry basket. Philippe started at the noise, but then rolled his eyes. “Never seen a naked man before?” He continued on, not caring if he dripped on his rugs that cost more than the treasury would have preferred.

Because he really didn’t care. He _really_ didn’t. In fact, he told himself just how much he didn’t care about any of it—Saint-Cloud, Louis, money, court—every time his feet slapped against the marble of the stairs. He did not care one bit.

 _Why is he even here?_ Usually, Louis only interfered with Philippe’s life when he wanted something. Then again, it seemed as though Louis always wanted something.

Well, if Louis insisted on showing up unannounced, uninvited, and unwelcome, Philippe would not make this visit simple for him. And as soon as he arrived at his rooms, he knew how he would accomplish it. At least for starters, and all thanks to the inspiration of seeing his dresser, Henri, standing there waiting for him with a robe. Philippe ripped it from his hands and put it on himself.

“While he is here, you may help his majesty. Once he departs, you may do so as well. For now, send me one of the ladies’ dressers.”

The man had the good taste to look abashed and lower his eyes. “Yes, your highness. May I do anything…anything else at all, to be of service to you?”

Philippe sailed past him and into his bedroom. “Don’t let me set eyes on you again.” With that, he slammed the door shut behind him and made for the wardrobe. 


	2. Chapter 2

Louis managed to convert his laugh into an understated guffaw when he stepped out of his rooms and saw Philippe exiting his own. He wore an elaborate black dress over a silver skirt of silk that glimmered in the candle light. Of course, he had decided on women’s clothing for supper, and Louis felt disappointed at himself for being surprised. And so now he simply shook his head and grinned.

“What magnificent timing, brother,” said Philippe. “You can give me your arm to help me down the stairs.”

Louis did not doubt Philippe would welcome the help, as he swished huge amounts of skirt. “Ladies’ clothes are not as to your liking in some ways?”

“On the contrary—I wish I could wear them all the time. It would give me an excuse to hold on to men more often.”

Louis allowed himself to chuckle openly at this, always susceptible to his brother’s sense of humor. He also offered his arm, which Philippe delicately accepted. “Do you also prefer the hair?” Louis asked. “Yours goes up rather nicely.”

Philippe pulled and released a springy curl that hung at the side of his face. “I do like this new fashion to pile it all in curls on top instead of bunched out at the sides. Although, my hair also looks quite magnificent when it’s loose. Don’t make me choose.”

Both of them now smiling, they started down the long stairway, Louis careful not to go too quickly. He was glad they had been able to lighten the mood, but something still gnawed at him. For a moment, he thought of not mentioning it, but this was his brother, and they had the rare chance to speak openly and alone. Louis would not waste the opportunity, even though it had no bearing on why he had come to visit. “You know, you need not do this.”

“Do what?” Philippe asked. “Go to supper with you? But my swim earlier made me quite ravenous.”

“No. Wear dresses to provoke me. You should dress as you like.”

“Who says I wore this to provoke you?” Philippe said, head raised high, looking more haughty than any woman at court. “Perhaps I have simply been waiting for an opportunity to show off my latest acquisition from the Paris dressmakers.”

“You have no desire or need to impress me with your new clothes; therefore, this is a provocation. But I am entirely in earnest when I say I would rather you be comfortable while I am here.”

Philippe frowned and turned his face completely away from Louis. It took a moment to understand, but then Louis thought he might not have been entirely wrong, if not wholly right, either. “Do you like wearing women’s clothes?” Louis asked, realizing he had never before thought to ask the question.

Although Philippe did not look at Louis, he turned his face front so Louis could see his profile. His jaw clenched and he blinked rapidly. Louis wondered if Philippe’s inner war was how he should answer or how he felt. After reaching the turning point on the staircase and heading down the final flight, Philippe answered. “I like the way it makes me feel. I like that when I walk into a room, every eye is on me, even if you’re there.”

“That happens whether or not you are in a dress. You are lovely whatever you are wearing, and people are bound to notice you.”

Philippe snorted. “Trust me. They look at me more when I’m the prettiest girl in the room. And they certainly look at me differently.”

“And you like that? How people look at you when you are dressed thus?”

“Of course, you never want for power, so you have no idea how much more in command of a situation I am when I’m in a dress. I put people off balance, and in spite of the shoes,” he chuckled, “I’m the one with stable footing.”

Louis thought about this for a moment. He could well believe his brother, but he suspected the power must be fleeting. “Surely people must get used to you, and find their footing, as it were.”

Philippe shook his head, his loose curl bouncing. “Not usually. Women never get over their envy. If I could figure out some way to add some padding to give the illusion of curves, no woman in France would be able to stand next to me.”

“I think your body, as it is, is enough to make most of them jealous,” Louis laughed.

“That’s very kind. But the men are even more amusing. Some of them are confused as to what I’m about. Even more often, though, they are confused at how I make them feel, and that they _never_ get over.”

Louis forced out a chuckle of understanding, on several levels. “That’s all very well, but it seems ever since you and mother reconciled, you only ever wear women’s clothes when you wish to anger me.”

“That is simply not true,” Philippe said, finally facing Louis as they reached the first floor. His lips twitched into a mischievous grin. “Even after we reconciled, while mother was still alive, I still wore dresses when I wish to anger her.”

Louis returned the smile, but did not pursue the matter. Even though Philippe had grown comfortable discussing their mother and how she had raised them, it was a topic Louis always found difficult. For eighteen years she had withheld her affection and support from Philippe, dressing him as a girl in hopes it would bolster Louis’s position. She had only relented when Louis had become so sick with typhoid the summer he was twenty and it looked as though Philippe may become king.

“Well, just so you know, you need not wear dresses any more. I am sure you can find other ways to let me know that you are displeased with me.”

They had reached the dining room, and Louis was chuckling, once more trying to keep the mood light before they went in to eat. But Philippe came to a stop and dropped Louis’s arm. Much as when they had been in the pool and Philippe had realized Louis had sent the Chevalier away, Philippe glared with barely contained rage. “You haven’t been listening to me. As usual.” With no hint he had ever considered allowing Louis to enter first, Philippe stomped into the room.

“And, as usual, you look for and find the most offensive interpretation of every word I say.” Louis stopped at the end of the table by the place setting that had been laid for him. Philippe, with his shoulders tensed, stomped to the far end, seating for five per side separating them. “Philippe, why are you sitting all the way down there? We are alone. Come sit by me.”

“This is _my_ home, and I shall eat in what seat pleases me.”

Louis sighed as he watched Philippe maneuver in front of the servant pulling out his chair to plop himself down. Ignoring his own servant, Louis walked down the table to the chair at his brother’s right. “Then I shall sit here.” Without waiting for assistance, Louis pulled out his own chair and sat.

“That chair doesn’t have arms,” Philippe snarled. “Are you sure you can sit through an entire meal like a peon?”

“Seeing as how I am making no objection to you sitting in one with arms, even though it marks a serious violation of etiquette, I think I shall manage.”

“Would you, I wonder, if there were people here?”

His brother’s constant flouting of the rules of etiquette while at court had been a source of frustration for Louis for as long as he could recall. He suspected Philippe often did so to get a rise out of Louis, much like wearing dresses. When he could, Louis overlooked Philippe’s impertinence. Truly, the primary reason to enforce any rule was to discourage others from violating it as well. But no one at court had yet to believe Louis would indulge them in the same manner he did his brother. And Philippe had enough anger and pain in his life that Louis tried not to add to it whenever possible to spare him. Not that they did not hurt each other endlessly without meaning to; the fury could overtake either of them, and the hurts inflicted were deeper than anyone else could ever manage.

“I wonder if you would have pressed the issue so if other people were here?”

Philippe picked up the glass of wine that had just been poured for him. “You doubt it?” He took a long drink, and Louis had to admit the truth of the statement. “No, the question is would you have sat where you are now if we were not alone?”

“If we were in company, there would be no reason for me to sit where I am.”

“And there you have me,” Philippe said, tilting his wineglass toward Louis. “I hope you like duck.”

“You know I dislike duck immensely.”

Philippe swallowed the rest of the wine in his glass. “And there I have you.”

***

By the end of supper, which included pheasant for Louis while Philippe feasted alone on a whole duck, they were both in excellent spirits. The wine and the memories flowed freely, and Philippe couldn’t say when it happened, but gradually the reminiscences held fewer barbs and more warmth. Philippe couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so happy to be with his brother. Occasionally, he reminded himself that they were only alone, enjoying this moment because of Louis’s duplicity, but he found he could not maintain his anger. Louis was who he was, and Philippe couldn’t change him. _But I love him all the same. Best just to accept him as he is. Much as he tries to accept his incredibly difficult brother_.

As they stumbled out of the dining room, Philippe clung to his brother, no longer a delicate lady as he had been on the walk down, but fiercely, the wine swimming laps around his head. But Louis was even more unsteady on his feet. When they reached the hall, they somehow tangled themselves and would have spilled across the floor had a servant not pushed Louis back up in time. They both burst out laughing.

“Thank you, but we will no longer be requiring your services,” Louis said to the man. “I’ve no worries that we can safely make our way to our rooms.”

“I worry a great deal,” Philippe said, hugging Louis’s arm to his bodice. “I think perhaps we should call for the eight strongest men at Saint-Cloud and have them carry us in litters.”

Louis snorted and bent double. “We shall be like Roman Emperors.”

“Which emperor do you want to be? I’m claiming Hadrian.”

The idea of assistance and litters and emperors was all very funny until they reached the stairs. There, they stopped, stared up, then looked at each other.

“Do you have any bedrooms on this floor?” Louis asked.

Philippe shook his head. “Of course there are. But we are going up. Yes! Louis! I have the most magnificent wine in my room, and I insist you try it.”

“Is it really that good?” Louis asked with a bit of a hiccup at the end.

Philippe thought about the wine. He hadn’t had any yet, but Pascal had told him it was the finest Bordeaux he’d ever tasted. Philippe had been saving it for an unspecified special occasion and he decided the first night alone with his brother since they were boys was it. “Absolutely, it is that good.”

Louis drew Philippe closer by pulling the arm Philippe still held so possessively. “I don’t know that we can make it. What about your shoes?”

Without another thought, Philippe lifted his right foot and yanked off his shoe, flinging it over his shoulder. “Help me with the other.” They adjusted their grips, and Louis held Philippe at the elbow while he removed the other shoe. “There!”

“But your stockings. They will be slick on the marble.”

Philippe turned around and flounced down on the second step. He held out a leg, hiked up his skirt and petticoats, and raised one eyebrow. “Well, help me get them off.”

Louis, understanding dawning, knelt on the floor. He untied the ribbon holding up the silk stocking at the knee, then unrolled the stocking. For a moment, once he had it removed, Louis didn’t know what to do with it, but then he giggled and pitched it over his shoulder. Philippe threw his head back and laughed like he hadn’t done in a horribly long time and offered his other foot. But Louis fumbled with this one, and rather than untying the ribbon, he twisted it into a knot.

“Let me see,” Philippe said, sitting up to take a look.

“I’ve made a mess of it, I’m afraid. And I’ve no nails to work it free.” Louis raised his eyes, their faces now right next to each other. It broke Philippe’s heart to see how genuinely sad he looked.

“Oh, fuck it. It’s a piece of ribbon,” Philippe said before he pulled hard and snapped the ribbon in two.

“I’m so sorry. It was such a pretty ribbon.”

Philippe patted his cheek with his awkward, drunk hand. “And yet, it is but ribbon. You shall atone by paying for more ribbon that is even more beautiful.”

“I shall buy you all the ribbon in France.”

 They stared at each other for several heartbeats before they both fell apart in giggles.

“Get the other stocking off,” Philippe said. “I want you to try this wine.”

Louis delicately dropped this stocking in a puddle on the step next to Philippe. “What about my shoes and stockings? Do you think I am safe?”

“Hmm. We should take no risks with the life of the king. Sit,” said Philippe, slapping the step next to him.

Like a boy eager to please his mother, Louis scurried to the spot indicated and Philippe went to his knees in front of his brother. “You know,” Louis said as Philippe removed the first shoe and stocking. “We should let your valets and dressers know we don’t need them. We can help each other get ready for bed, don’t you think?”

Philippe could never remember hearing so brilliant an idea in his life, lending speed to his hands. “Perfect,” Philippe said, springing upright and offering Louis a hand up. “We shall do for ourselves tonight.”

“No. Not just tonight,” Louis said. He was standing on the bottom step, so he was now a touch taller than Philippe. “Let’s dismiss all of the valets and dressers and the rest of the staff for my entire stay.

“Surely not the cook!” Philippe laughed. “We will both starve.”

“The cook may remain. Along with your gardeners. Your grounds look lovely. Will you show me around tomorrow?”

Philippe hooked his arm through Louis’s and they began the long trek up the stairs. “Late tomorrow, I think. Neither of us will appreciate the morning sun.”

“But I am the sun!” Louis giggled.

“And if you make my head hurt, I shall banish you behind a curtain as well.”

“You might not wish to see me again?” Louis now asked in mock sadness.

There had been many times Philippe had not wished to see his brother, and while it was true every time he felt that urge, it was equally true how happy Philippe felt when he inevitably saw Louis again. After Henriette’s death, Philippe could no sooner have remained at Versailles than he could have leapt from the roof of his palace. In fact, the temptation to throw himself from the top of his home had struck more than once. But he’d always drowned that compulsion in the Chevalier’s body, or wine, or both. And somehow over the time apart from his brother and court, Philippe had unknowingly begun to miss his brother, now with Henriette gone, the only person who had truly known him his whole life. Philippe wasn’t so naïve that he thought Louis and he would not have their differences again, but as of this moment, cresting the top of the stairs in Saint-Cloud, just the two of them, wine awaiting them, Philippe very much wanted his brother always in his life.

“I believe I shall keep you as long as you wish to remain,” Philippe said. “Assuming you have the good grace not to wake me too early tomorrow.”

“Brother, I doubt I will be in any state to wake you tomorrow afternoon. And I thank you for that.”

Now that they had reached the second floor, Philippe pulled Louis closer. “I’m sure there is wine to be had at Versailles as well. There is no need to thank me.”

“But I could never have had so much there. I am free to act in ways here alone with you that I cannot at court or before anyone else.”

Philippe was beginning to understand a bit more why Louis had been so eager to empty Saint-Cloud of guests. _I still wish he had told me. Perhaps he doesn’t believe how well I understand the desire to have a life, even just a brief moment of a life, that has been forbidden to you._

They walked into Philippe’s room, and four men and a lady stood at the ready to undress him. He snapped his fingers—at least he tried to—and pointed to the door he and Louis had just weaved through. “Out. I don’t need you. Actually,” and here he pointed to the door in the wall on the right that led to Louis’s room. “Take everyone from his majesty’s room as well,” he said, and in a fit of magnanimity he added, “And if Henri is in there, tell him he’s not actually fired.” The men scurried out of the door behind Philippe while the lady raced through the door to Louis’s room. Once the doors were closed and they were alone, Philippe patted his brother’s arm as a broad smile stretched his lips. “I hope you know how to undress a woman.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “I have done so once or twice.”

Philippe presented his back to Louis. “Then get untying already.”

Louis’s fingertips brushed across Philippe’s bare neck, gently lifting the long, loose curl and placing it over his shoulder. He stood so close Philippe could feel Louis breathing on his neck. It was so pleasant to have Louis here, undressing him, showing a bit of care and affection they had never often shared. “Can you get those laces, or should I get a knife and count all my ribbon lost?”

Louis’s hands stilled on his back just above the line of the dress. “No. I believe I am capable of loosening most knots.”

“Are you certain?” Philippe asked as he tried to stand straighter, thinking that would help Louis. “You aren’t exactly practiced at helping other people.”

“What are you talking about? I’m the king. My whole life is about helping France.”

Philippe sucked in his breath, never liking it when Louis started on his rants about his “service” to France. Philippe had served France, watched men fight and die serving France. Louis knew nothing of the like. Philippe let his breath out and reminded himself he did not actually want to fight with Louis tonight. “I merely mean you do not often perform menial tasks for others. Playing the role of one who serves is not really a part of your repertoire. Literally, have you ever helped remove a person’s clothes you weren’t about to fuck?”

Louis yanked on a lace and Philippe felt and heard something pop on his dress. “And you have lived such a hard life? When was the last time you undressed someone?”

His dress slipped off his shoulder and Philippe tried to pull it around to see if the damage could be fixed. The rend was so deep, the entire garment slid off when Philippe let go, but it at least appeared to all be along a seam. “Last night,” Philippe answered with a scowl.

“Not someone you were going to fuck.”

Philippe spun around and nearly lost his balance, but once he righted himself, he leaned in close to his brother’s face. “Get out. Just leave and go to your own room and undress yourself with no help from me. I thought you said you came here to be with me, but as always, you’re the master of keeping yourself apart from everyone who truly cares about you.”

Louis pursed his lips as though holding back either an epithet or the urge to spit. “You will never understand. Never be able to really help me. I should have just left you alone here and forgotten about you.”

Philippe ignored the ache in his chest at his brother’s words. “Yes, you should have.” Philippe began yanking himself loose from the rest of his clothes, petticoats dropping to the floor. “Good night, your majesty. I wish to retire now.”

With a final scowl, Louis turned with a bit of a wobble, but he maintained his feet, and walked with all the dignity of a king to the door leading to his room. He grabbed the door handle and opened it gently, and then stepped through with complete grace. His dignity intact, he softly shut the door behind him. Philippe, on the other hand, removed the heavy jeweled comb from his hair and hurled it at Louis’s door with a growl.


	3. Chapter 3

No light—not a single candle, lamp, or brazier—illuminated the long corridor. The hall was wide and the ceiling high and every step Louis took echoed off the marble floor. He could sense more than he could see the windows on the left as the night outside them was moonless. Unable to see, he could not discern where he was. This was not Versailles, something he felt without being able to prove it with his eyes. Perhaps Saint-Germain? Except, so much of his childhood had been spent there, he would surely know it even in the dark. A nameless something in his soul also told him he was not in the Louvre or Saint-Cloud, or any other palace of his acquaintance.

He walked forward.

It seemed as if he walked for many minutes, even though he took long strides, and he still did not reach the end of the hallway. But then the sound of laughter reached his ears, faint but unquestionable. At that very moment, he came to a tall, narrow doorway on his left. The laughter sounded louder through it, so he turned and allowed himself to be drawn by whoever it was he could hear.

He now stepped across a thick rug, and he knew he had stepped into a room, but one without furniture. It was still dark, and he could not see the absence of tables and chairs, but he knew with certainty the room lay empty but for the rug. At the far end, another door opened to another room. The voices were growing, and he could now tell it was not just laughter, but conversation, as though a party were underway. He hurried forward.

But the next room echoed as desolately as the corridor where he had started. Yet, the voices could still be heard, somewhere nearby where there would not only be people, but light, instead of this endless nothing. Once more assured by nothing more than instinct, he ran through the emptiness, and pushed open the door at the other end of the room.

But beyond this door, darkness and barrenness met him. As though taunting him, the sound of the party was so vivid he could almost make out individual words, perhaps even his name. But continuing through this room, surely the biggest he had been in yet, would not lead him to the party. The moment he made this realization, vowed he would not fall prey to the same trick again, he noticed another door in the other corner at this end of the room.

He moved so fast his feet tangled in his nightgown, and his final steps to the closed door could be better called trips. So he caught himself against the door and pushed it open, revealing the deep black, the greatest void of any room in the palace. And yet, the voices sounded as though they were directly next to him, hundreds of them laughing and enjoying themselves somewhere nearby where the sun shone.

He stepped into the room, but his foot did not land on the floor. It landed on nothing at all. Louis was falling into a vast pit with no bottom, no way out, no light, no anything.

Screaming, he threw himself upright. He still did not know where he was. Wait. He had tumbled into a great chasm. No. That could not be correct. He was sitting. And yet his entire body trembled, sweat coated his face and back, and without meaning to, he continued to scream, but only deep in his throat with little sound escaping between his sobs.

“Louis! Louis, my God, are you alright?”

Louis recognized Philippe’s voice, but he dare not look in the direction the voice came from. If he looked and his brother was not there, his heart would break irreparably. He sobbed.

“Louis, did the storm scare you?” said Philippe’s voice. Louis thought his bed sagged with someone’s weight, but still he could not look.

Then lightning illuminated the room as thunder flooded his ears, and Louis jumped at a touch on his shoulder. Now he could not stop himself, and in the moment the lightning shined in through the window, Louis saw Philippe, saw that his brother truly had come to him. “Is it storming?” Louis asked.

Philippe brushed the hair stuck to Louis’s forehead from his face. “You’ve had a bad dream, haven’t you?”

And that was when Louis finally began to understand. The dark palace was only a dream. He had not fallen into an abyss. With relief he could not voice, he put his arms around Philippe’s waist and squeezed before resting his head on his brother’s shoulder. “A terrible dream. I could hear voices, my name, yet I was alone utterly, in the dark. And I fell, but I never reached the bottom.”

“Shh,” Philippe purred against Louis’s head as he pulled him close. “It’s all over now, and you are fine. This dream cannot hurt you. It’s not real.”

“But it felt real. The emptiness and the loneliness, it still aches in my chest and makes my stomach roil. I’ve never felt so afraid.”

Philippe gripped him tighter, cradling Louis against his chest. Lightly, Philippe rocked him and petted his hair. “I know, brother. But it was not real. You are not alone. You are here and safe with me. Would you like me to light a candle so it is not so dark?”

Louis clung to him with all the strength he could muster in his shaking arms. “Do not leave me. Say you will stay with me through the night. I do not think I could sleep again if I were alone.”

Philippe kissed the top of Louis’s head. “Of course, I will stay. Now lie down and let me adjust the covers. You’ve thrashed around so much, half of them are at the bottom of the bed, and the night is chill.”

“Is it?” Louis asked, sliding down in the bed, but making sure his hand still rested on Philippe’s arm, unwilling to lose contact and trust only his eyes that he was not alone. “I am covered in sweat.”

“And now that your dream is over, you will stop sweating, cool down, but still be damp. In five minutes, you will be freezing.”

“Not with you here.”

More lightning allowed Louis to see Philippe’s lovely smile. “Not with me here.” Philippe flung the blankets up over them and then settled in behind Louis, pulling Louis’s back to his chest. He offered Louis his hand, and Louis gratefully clutched it to his lips. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” Louis said, nestling closer to his brother and his warmth.


	4. Chapter 4

“Monsieur? Monsieur?”

For a few hazy seconds, Louis did not understand why someone was calling for his brother in his room. But then he felt the warm body shift behind him and he remembered—his dream, Philippe coming to calm him and staying the night. What on earth would Philippe’s servants think of two grown noble brothers sharing a bed? It wasn’t something that was ever done. Louis made to move away, but Philippe pulled him closer.

“In here,” Philippe called through the door he had left open that connected their rooms.

He kissed the back of Louis’s head, before loosening his grip and rolling slightly so that he could see better. Louis took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was the King of France, and that if he wished to share his bed with his brother, it was no servant’s business. He turned over onto his back and smiled at Philippe as best he could, still not entirely comfortable with the situation.

“Um, good morning, Monsieur,” said the servant at the door. “I have brought your breakfast, if you want it.”

Philippe sat up and leaned against the headboard. Louis remained completely under the blankets with his head on the pillow. “Very good,” Philippe answered. “Has his majesty’s breakfast been brought as well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then have everything brought here. His majesty and I shall dine in his bed.”

“Very good, sir.”

Louis now wiggled upright against his brother. “Are you sure—”

But Philippe shushed him and squeezed his hand under the blanket. The servant who had woken them came in again, leading four other servants carrying trays with their food.

“It appears as the though the storm has stopped,” Philippe said to his servant. “Is there any damage?”

“A few tree limbs down, your highness, but nothing serious.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I feared it would be much worse. The thunder woke me in the middle of the night.” Philippe laughed and his broad smile was so infectious, soon the servants were grinning back. “And like when I was a little boy back at Saint-Germain, I came running for my brother’s bed.”

Louis lowered his eyes and smiled, so grateful Philippe would tell this lie.

“Do you remember, brother,” Philippe went on, “how we would pretend the thunder and lightning were a great battle?”

“Yes,” Louis laughed. “I said every clap of thunder was a mighty cannon, but you always insisted some were a clash of shields.”

“Amazing how little real battle sounds like a storm, yet how much a storm can remind you of battle.” Philippe paused and now he frowned. The men with trays settled them over Louis’s and Philippe’s laps while the original servant stood at attention at the foot of the bed, and Philippe now addressed him. “Do you not find that to be so, Renaud?”

“That is the case, sir,” he answered, eyes never leaving the floor.

“Renaud fought with me in the Spanish Netherlands,” Philippe said to Louis. “No braver a group of men has ever been assembled, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed, I would, sir. And none so brave as yourself. I’ve never felt more honored than when going into battle with your highness.”

Philippe cleared his throat and Louis spared a glance out of the corner of his eye. To the rest of the world, Philippe might appear prouder than the most colorful peacock, but Louis, who knew his brother better than anyone, saw the embarrassment. Philippe had been so good as to save Louis from embarrassment this morning, the least he could do was return the favor. “Since all is well out of doors, shall we go for a ride today?” Louis asked. “You did promise to show me what you have been doing here.”

“Not to contradict your majesty,” said Renaud, “but while there is no significant damage from the storm, the mud is exceedingly thick.”

Philippe perked up and managed a hint of a grin. “What’s a little mud? No, his majesty and I will absolutely go for a ride after we’ve eaten and dressed.”

Renaud nodded. “Very well, sir. Shall I tell your valet and the dressers to come up in half an hour?”

“No,” Louis blurted out. Philippe’s smile widened and became more genuine, which made Louis laugh. “That is if you do not mind, brother.”

“I do not mind in the least! Renaud, we shall be self-sufficient while his majesty is visiting. Well, as self-sufficient as we can be without doing things we positively despise.”

Renaud chuckled. “Very good, sir. Shall I have food and wine prepared for your saddlebags and two horses prepared for you?”

Philippe threw his head back, enjoying the absurdity of it all. Louis rather liked it himself, for that matter. “Yes, please see to that.”

***

Breakfast was a fine meal—they ate and laughed and forgot about the trauma of the night. But as soon as they climbed into their saddles, the mood shifted, regressed back to the awkwardness when they first woke. _Perhaps it’s the downed tree limbs. They’re everywhere along the path, including a big one from an elm. Pity. But that doesn’t matter; it’s the reminder for both of us of the lie I told. So, what are you going to do about it?_

Philippe had already lied for Louis, tried to cheer him, fed him, but he didn’t know what Louis wanted. Did he want to be asked about what was troubling him? Probably not. Louis never liked anyone in any circumstance to mention any shortcoming he may possess. Maybe Philippe should assure his brother that as unsettling as the dream had been, it ultimately meant nothing. Or should Philippe just pretend nothing was off and begin rambling about Saint-Cloud?

“I’ve always liked this particular ride,” Philippe said, selecting the last option. “This path is like a history of all my relationships. For instance, over there, behind that hedge.” He pointed to the right side of the gravel path he and Louis were slowly riding down. “That is where I told Jules Mancini I didn’t want to see him ever again. Of course, I told him that _after_ he’d done certain things for me. You have to keep in mind that the hedge was new and much lower then, so it would have been quite scandalous had someone walked by.” He chuckled, not actually amused by the recollection. “But I felt ill-used and I was young and brash.”

Louis said nothing and did not appear amused by Philippe’s conversation. However, Philippe had promised the story of many loves on this ride, and he didn’t know what else to do, so he just kept talking while Louis rode next to him in silence. Philippe knew these moments—when he should stop talking, but did not—which always led to hurts and regrets, because everything out of his mouth was better left unsaid. But God help him, he could never shut up when Louis refused to respond. “And here on the left, behind the little cherry tree there, is where the Chevalier and I first kissed. Not long after the incident with Jules, come to think of it.”

Louis pursed his lips, his countenance as sour as it always became at any mention of the Chevalier. _Yes, not talking and riding through awkward silence would be decidedly preferable to bringing up certain topics Louis is certain to dislike even more than his nightmare. But, oh, God, there is that bench. Say nothing. For the love of God, be silent._

But he could not prevent the words bubbling up like hot tar. He choked a little and said, “And that is where Henriette and I sat and vowed we would be good to each other when we got married.” Philippe barely spoke above a whisper, yet Louis heard him over the crunch of the horses’ hooves on the gravel. Louis stared at the bench in question—a low, smooth bit of granite with no back and barely big enough even for two slim people—and then he turned his glare on Philippe. For several steps, they looked at each other, Philippe finally mortified into silence, before Louis snapped his reins and set his horse to a trot.

Philippe nudged his horse to catch up to Louis’s, but when he pulled alongside, he said nothing. In this way, they entered the long, shaded path, lined with poplars and oaks. The mud lay thicker here, puddles dotting the way, and they had to slow down. Louis never turned his gaze from directly before him, a scowl firmly set on his face. Philippe could only stand this for so long before he blurted out, “There’s nothing wrong with having a bad dream.”

Louis tried to speed his horse again, but even though they had specifically been given mounts good in the mud, his horse balked. Philippe exhaled in frustration. He could not understand why Louis was so averse to speaking with him about a nightmare. Yes, Philippe understood that his brother believed his dreams prophetic, but surely Louis did not fear being left alone. _Or is that exactly what he fears? Is that why he builds a palace to hold us all? And yet I left, and eventually everyone else leaves as well, like Henriette_.

“Brother, please,” Philippe said when Louis tried to spur his horse again. “Why can you not speak of this? It was a dream. You were upset. It happens to everyone. There’s no shame in having the dream or in needing comfort.”

“I do not wish to speak of this.”

“But why? It clearly upsets you. And if there is anyone you can talk to about your bad dreams, it is me. You can trust me. And I’ll understand. God knows I’m plagued by my own nightmares.”

Louis kicked his horse so hard, the poor animal felt as though it must at least try to trot. But its hooves caught in the mud and it stuttered. The horse tried to right itself and keep its rider on its back, but it could not do both. Perhaps the horse failed to understand it carried the King of France, because it chose its own preservation over its rider. In obvious pain, the horse swayed and stayed upright, but Louis could not say the same. He tumbled from the saddle, but his left foot stuck in the stirrup. He landed on his back, his leg in the air, screaming.

Philippe jumped down and raced to his brother. “Louis! My God, are you alright?”

“Fuck!” he screamed between gritted teeth. The horse whinnied and pawed at the ground, jostling Louis, who now yelled incoherently.

“Let me get your foot out of the stirrup,” Philippe said. He jumped up from where he knelt next to Louis’s head and examined the stirrup while he patted the horse, hoping to calm it. When he released Louis’s foot, however, it was not as much of a relief as he had hoped, since he had not planned ahead to catch it, and it slammed quite unceremoniously into a puddle, spraying Philippe with dirty water.

“Why didn’t you just cut if off?” Louis asked when he stopped yelling. “It would have hurt less.”

Philippe could not help scowling at Louis, wet, muddy, and furious in spite of the pain he must surely be in. “I’m sorry. If you find my ministrations inadequate, I can leave you here to fend for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Louis groaned. “I am in extreme pain. I think the very least you might do in order to help soothe my agony is forgive a few piques of temper.”

 _Bastard. I hate it when he’s right when I’m mad at him_. He inhaled violently through his nose. “Fine. Would you like me to help you sit up, or are you happy in the mud?”

Louis produced the most withering look he could muster through his grimace of pain. “Up.”

Philippe scooted behind his brother and heaved him into a sitting position. He remained, kneeling in the wet and filth so Louis could lean against him. “Can you move your foot?”

“I don’t know.”

Philippe squeezed Louis’s shoulders. “Try.”

Louis tensed in Philippe’s arms and sucked in a breath. But then he moved his foot. It was only slight, and Philippe would have likely missed it had he not been watching, but he did move it up and down. “That’s wonderful!” Philippe said. “Can you move it side to side as well?”

Louis groaned, but his foot shifted the tiniest bit. “It hurts like hell, though.”

“But to have moved it even that much means it is not broken,” Philippe sighed, not having realized he was holding his breath. “If you can sit on your own, I’m going to check the horse to see if it can carry you, or if I’ll have to plop you on my saddle, instead.”

“I’ll be fine,” Louis said. “But do not bother checking the horse—just shoot it. Any animal that skittish should not be ridden.”

“And any rider who tries to get his horse to gallop in this mud should be forbidden the saddle,” Philippe hissed, no longer caring how gently he released Louis. He went up to the horse and petted its nose and made soothing noises. Once the animal seemed calm enough to withstand inspection, Philippe bent down and examined the hoof it favored. The horse snorted and allowed Philippe to run his hands over the bottom of its leg. “Well, like you, the horse seems to have only suffered a sprain and not a break. However, it strikes me as unkind to expect it to carry you back to the house.”

“So you will put me in your saddle.”

Philippe snorted at the terrible double entendre. “Yes. I hope you enjoy the ride.”

***

What a tedious, painful, and ridiculous morning. Louis regretted having ever come to Saint-Cloud. Yes, he had wanted to see Philippe for many reasons, and his visit had barely begun, but the usefulness to agony ratio hardly seemed worthwhile. And, now he was sitting on the saddle in front of his brother, being hauled back to the palace in ignominy. He should leave for Versailles immediately and pretend no part of the past twenty-four hours had happened.

“You could have walked,” Louis snapped when Philippe’s grip around his waist tightened. Granted, Philippe had done so because Louis swayed a bit, but he wouldn’t have actually fallen out of the saddle if left on his own.

“Yes,” Philippe said with his worst oozing sarcasm. “You are eminently fit to ride on your own. And no king’s brother has ever come back from a ride to tell a tale of an ‘accident.’ No, I will not have you breaking your neck on my watch.”

“This is ridiculous. Do you forget that your place is to do as I say?”

“I will do anything you say if you tell me the truth about your dream.”

Louis had not intended to speak the words he had, and he had expected Philippe’s response even less, but that is what anger got him. The visit to Saint-Cloud was intended to be a release from kingship for him. Demanding Philippe treat him as his sovereign lord at the very moment he most needed to be a normal man went against everything Louis had planned. He would have to answer and hope it helped him much like a course of leeches.

“I dreamed Versailles, literally dreamed it. In the night, my mind created what is becoming the greatest palace in the world. I dreamed I would be betrayed by someone close to me, and one of my oldest friends killed Henriette and kidnapped my son.” Louis paused, uncertain how or if they would ever be able to discuss the woman who had meant so much to them both. But Philippe squeezed him again around the middle, this time with encouragement, so he went on. “And now I have dreamed that I am doomed to wander a dark palace alone while the rest of the world goes on without me. I cannot say what it means precisely, but I know it means I will be abandoned by everyone.”

Philippe sighed against Louis’s back and then nuzzled his hair. He thought he might weep and was grateful Philippe could not see his face. “You know I didn’t really abandon you? I just needed my own time, and being there was too painful. And you would press the matter, which always makes me react poorly. But I wrote to find out if I could do anything when I heard about the Dauphin. I would have come back eventually.”

“And you swear you will never abandon me in the future?”

“You mean that while we are riding thus, you still think you have to ask whether or not I have your back?”

Louis laughed softly. “Where are you now?”

“Exactly.” Philippe shifted behind, and Louis could feel his brother’s breath on his neck, but if Philippe was about to do something else, Louis would never know. “Ah, look! My master of horse. Hopefully he can get these two straightened around.”

Louis said nothing while Philippe waved and the master came jogging toward them.

“Yes, I hope it all may be set to rights,” Louis said.

“I will send for the physician immediately. But in the meantime, you are going to adore the addition the Chevalier made to my parlor furniture.”

“Why do I not find that comforting?”

“Ha! Trust me, if there is something that man knows, it’s comfort.”


	5. Chapter 5

“And you must stay off the ankle for at least one week,” the sweet old physician told Louis.

“I _must_? You tell your king what he _must_ do?”

Philippe rolled his eyes. Louis had been impossible ever since he’d been helped down from the saddle. The poor stable boy had been the first to feel his displeasure, and then Renaud and every other servant who had brought wine or food or towels. And now, finally, the physician, who merely wished to do his job. “He’s telling his _patient_ what to do. Stop being difficult.”

Louis scowled at him while the physician finished packing his supplies and then hustled to the door with the speediest of bows. Philippe sneered back and followed the physician into the hallway. “My apologies,” Philippe whispered. “I’ll do my best to keep him off his foot. And to make certain he takes the medicine you’ve left. He’s grown very attached to his physician at Versailles and he’s never been a good patient.”

“He is the king. He may be any sort of patient it suits him to be. I just do not wish him to lose the use of the foot altogether.”

“Understood. Please go to the kitchen and eat before you leave.”

The old physician smiled and bowed his head slightly, but Philippe could tell he was not interested in remaining at Saint-Cloud. “I will return tomorrow to check on his majesty. What might be a good hour at which to find him awake?”

Philippe pondered. He knew what hours Louis kept at Versailles—the whole world did. But he had slept so poorly the night before and the medicines involved a sleeping draft. “Perhaps late morning will be best.”

“I will come at 11 o’clock, then.” The physician plopped a squished black hat atop his head and nodded. “Send for me before if you have any worries.”

Philippe frowned as he stood watching the physician leave, likely to return home to a wife and maybe some children and a hot supper. Philippe, on the other hand, would get to spend the rest of his day alone with his angry, incapacitated brother. _Who says commoners don’t have good lives?_

“Philippe! Are you coming back, or shall I ring for a servant to help me?”

 _Oh, this is going to be utterly delightful. The exact special time I always longed to have with Louis_. But he walked back into the room, nonetheless. “You’ll be glad to know that I assured the good physician that when you can no longer walk, because you did not heed his advice, I will see to it that he is given a swift execution.”

“Very funny. But staying here on this contraption for a week is impossible.”

“Why impossible?” Philippe asked, sitting in a chair next to the lounge. He held out a glass of wine from a table a bit out of Louis’s reach, which he snatched away. “You never said how long you were intending to stay. But if you need to return to Versailles before the week is out, I will happily send this along for you.”

“I can’t return to court on a wheeled sofa!” Louis’s face grew red and pinched as he spat out those words. If he didn’t calm down, Philippe feared they might need to call the physician back for something decidedly more serious than a sore ankle.

“For heaven’s sake, why not? You’re the king, and you can get pushed around Versailles if you so choose.” Louis said nothing, and Philippe felt compelled to continue speaking until he understood. “What? Do you not wish to tell people how the injury occurred? Riding accidents happen to everyone. Blame it entirely on me. I’m sure it’s my fault anyway.” The last he added under his breath.

“You wouldn’t understand,” was all the response Louis gave.

Philippe leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, angrily sipping his wine, while he stared at his impossible brother. “So, what do you intend to do? I intend to eat and drink and try to force you to not walk. If you decide not to be difficult, perhaps we could actually enjoy some quiet time together. It was my understanding that you came here for that reason. Although my understanding of your motives is rarely accurate.”

Louis drank, and then peered up at Philippe from his slightly bowed head. “I wished to come spend time with my brother.”

“Yes. And that is what I’m proposing we do.” Philippe shook his head, not understanding his brother, as happened far too often. With Louis refusing to look at him, Philippe wasn’t getting any help at all trying to unravel Louis’s mystery. “What is wrong?”

“I wished that we would do for ourselves.” Louis almost made eye contact before studying his glass. “It is why I came so alone.”

Philippe shifted to the floor so that he now knelt next to his brother. “And I will do for you.”

“But I did not want to be waited on. For once in my life, I would tend myself and even help you. And now I am not just king, but a helpless king, more in need of other people than ever. It is precisely what I did not want.”

“Well, no one wants to fall off a horse.” He paused and slowly smirked, as did Louis, unable to resist his humor. _I still don’t understand his motives entirely, but I can begin to see a way to make him smile at least_. “So, you are going to stop complaining, and let me help you, if no one else.”

“What precisely did you have in mind?” Louis said with real interest.

Philippe could not repress his triumphant grin. As the physician had been examining Louis, Philippe had begun constructing a plan for what they should do while Louis recovered. He’d immediately assumed Louis would have restrictions, so he’d done his best to plan for that. He had several ideas for where to start; it was just a matter of determining which Louis might prefer. “Do you want to do something outside, or do you wish to remain indoors?”

“What could I possibly do outside?”

Philippe set down his wine and popped to his feet. “You would be surprised.”

***

Louis freely admitted, in his own mind, that Philippe’s idea really was a clever one. Once he wheeled Louis outside onto the patio, Philippe turned the lounge so when Louis turned over on his stomach, he was in an excellent prone firing position. The targets, a family of wild boars made of wicker, were scattered forty to eighty feet away, and Philippe had thought ahead to bring out every style of firearm Saint-Cloud could provide.

“Ah, one moment,” Philippe said, pushing Louis to the edge of the grass. “This is a bit too high.” He held up a fork for balancing a musket. It was made for a man standing, not lying on his stomach. Philippe looked around, frowning. “I’ll have a hatchet brought!”

“No, don’t do that,” Louis said. “I think I can rest it on the lounge. Let me see.” Philippe handed over the musket, and Louis took his time settling in. The musket did rest in a good position, but to get his body where he needed it, his ankle bent at a terrible angle. “Can you get some pillows under my foot?”

Philippe jumped into action. A chair had been brought out for him with an extra cushion, which he slid under Louis’s foot. “How’s that?” Philippe asked.

Louis adjusted, but frowned. “Almost.”

“I have it.” Philippe pulled off his embroidered jacket and folded it evenly before gently raising Louis’s foot and sliding it underneath. “Yes?”

“Perfect. But will you be cold?”

Philippe’s expressive mouth went through several dramatic contortions before settling into a frown. “I’d rather have it off for shooting. And since I’m sure to end up doing all of the reloading, I’ll warm up in no time.”

“I hurt my foot, not my hands. I can help you reload.”

“How often do you load your own gun?” Philippe asked. Louis looked away. “As I suspected,” Philippe laughed. “I would like to keep my guns and myself intact, so I shall reload.”

“You could teach me.”

His brother smiled as though charmed by the idea. “Me teaching you something. That might be interesting. For now, let’s just see if you can hit a pig’s fat ass in that position.”

***

Louis could, in fact, hit a pig’s ass, head, and heart lying prone. Philippe was impressed with his brother’s shooting, but even more so at the spirit with which he approached the activity. _I knew he would enjoy this if I could just get him to try it. He’s like a boy again. As am I, I suppose_.

The both laughed when the head of the large boar was blown into the rear end of the sow. They playfully smacked each other’s hands when Philippe taught Louis the proper way to add powder to an arquebus. They smiled conspiratorially when Philippe made up an intricate story explaining why the piglets were running away from their mother. They might have stayed at shooting all day if it had not started to rain again.

With all haste, Philippe insisted Louis roll over on his back. He then loaded all the guns on top of Louis and pushed the laden lounge back to the parlor as fast as he could. When they reached the door, Philippe shoved down on the back, making the front wheels pop up in the air. Louis squealed and Philippe giggled as they raced over the threshold. Whirling the lounge around, Philippe brought it to a stop in front of the blazing fireplace.

Philippe collapsed on the rug at Louis’s feet and started to unload him, truly enjoying their independence. In fact, he now realized that since the chair he’d never sat in had been carried outside for him along with the firearms, they hadn’t seen a single servant. They had done for themselves, and now they would warm themselves by the fire. Granted, someone had lit it for them, but Philippe could keep it stoked and clean the guns, and pour the wine, all with no company but his brother. _I think I will suggest we dress and undress ourselves again. And we’ll have supper in my room. No reason to have Louis going up and down the stairs. If we still need the servants for food, after all, we might as well take full advantage of it_.

“What are you thinking about down there?”

Philippe could hear the smile in his brother’s voice without having to look up and see his lips.

“We had breakfast in bed; how about supper as well? No need for some poor bastard to carry you up and down the stairs more times than necessary. At least we agreed last night litters would be a bit much.” Philippe paused as he set the second in a pair of pistols next to the musket on the floor, a terrible thought entering his head. “Unless, of course, you want to have rooms made ready for you on the ground floor.”

“Absolutely not!” Louis said in his haughtiest manner, although a tiny, sly smile flicked over his lips. “I like the rooms I am in very much. And you and I can scoot up the stairs together like we did back at Saint-Germain.”

Philippe had not been expecting this suggestion or the reference that went along with it and he couldn’t contain a laugh. “Oh, good Lord! I cannot believe you remember that ridiculous game!”

“Of course, I do,” Louis said, now smiling broadly as Philippe happily looked on. “I distinctly remember that my record was twenty-three wins to your nineteen crawling up the grand staircase backward.”

“You were eleven. I was nine. You were decidedly bigger at that age. I feel certain I could defeat you now.”

“Challenge accepted. But first something to eat. I’m famished.”

Philippe also realized now how hungry he was, lunch having been missed in the bustle over Louis’s ankle and the physician’s visit. Still, he sighed, reluctant to call for a servant. _How difficult is a little cold meat and cheese? And I am entirely competent to slice bread. Perhaps we could continue to do without calling the servants_. But in order to stay together, Philippe would have to wheel Louis to the kitchen, and they would have to deal with the Saint-Cloud staff there. “Bread and cheese, or something more substantial?”

“The physician said no meat,” Louis frowned.

“Smoked fish, then? Or even fresh. I’m sure the cooks could find something.”

“No. Save the fish for dinner.” Louis paused, looked so thoughtfully at Philippe that Philippe blushed, and added, “I think a light repast and my brother’s company is all that I require at the moment.”

Philippe’s lips pressed tightly together before they curled into a smile. “Then that is what you shall have.”


	6. Chapter 6

“More cream?” Philippe offered.

Louis shook his head and licked his fingers clean. “I could not possibly. I am so happy we decided to keep your kitchen staff.”

Philippe laughed, having thought the same thing more than once during the meal. Even though they were barely dressed—both down to shirts, breeches, and stocking feet—and eating in Philippe’s bedroom, the staff at Saint-Cloud had outdone themselves with this meal. There wouldn’t have been more courses if they had been in the formal dining room, and this was even taking into account Louis’s meatless diet. The fish and cheese and sauces drenching vegetables and the wine to go with it all was quite literally fit for a king. “I should give them all presents,” he said before draining the second perfect white wine of the meal.

“Allow me to contribute. I have not had a meal so fine in an extremely long time.”

Philippe called to the door and two servants entered. “Take this all away and then take the remainder of the night off. All of you. Everyone has done remarkable work today.”

“Thank you, your highness,” one of the servants said with a bow. “But are you certain you and his majesty will require nothing further tonight?”

“We are quite sure,” Louis answered. “My brother can help me, and all of you may enjoy some well-earned rest. Truly, this meal was a pleasure.”

The servants bowed again, this time to Louis, and began piling plates, serving dishes, and glasses onto trays. “The kitchen staff will be most appreciative to hear you said so, sire.”

Philippe slouched in his chair and grinned and Louis, so happy to be here with him, and so gratified at how Louis was treating his staff. It had been years since Louis had visited Saint-Cloud, and it meant more to Philippe than he’d thought it would that he liked it. _It’s not often I am fortunate enough to experience Louis’s approval. That must be why I’d forgotten how good it feels_.

When the servants left with the remnants of the meal and closed the door behind them, Philippe clapped his hands together. “So, what now?”

“I thought you were the one with all of the ideas for how to entertain me while I convalesce.” Louis started to curl his mouth into a smile, but then he grimaced instead. Philippe sprang to his side in a moment, grasping Louis’s hand. Louis patted Philippe’s shoulder with his free hand, and managed a tiny smile. “There is no need for worry, but my foot feels better when it is elevated. I suggest I move back to my lounge.”

“I have a better suggestion,” Philippe said, dashing behind Louis’s chair and pulling him back from the table. He picked his brother up in his arms, but rather than depositing him in the lounge, which sat next to the table where the servants had been kind enough to leave it, Philippe carried him to the sofa in front of the fireplace. He gently settled Louis into one corner, plumping the pillow behind his back and stretching his legs the rest of the length. “Almost ready,” Philippe said, before he dashed away to the small bookcase beside his enormous wardrobe.

Louis laughed and said a bit breathlessly, “Well, that was not entirely what I expected, but it is good to know I have you to help me to bed when the time comes.”

Philippe glanced back at Louis, who then turned his eyes away to gaze at the fire. Wishing Louis had continued to smile at him, Philippe tucked his tiny disappointment away with all the other, much bitterer disappointments from his brother over the years. Atop the bookcase, he found a decanter and glasses, and from one of the shelves, he pulled off a book he thought Louis would enjoy. _At least, he liked it when we were boys. Perhaps he no longer finds the old romantic tales so charming because they are not about him_.

The book tucked under his arm, glasses in one hand, decanter in the other, Philippe sauntered back to the sofa. He leaned over Louis, who looked up at him a bit puzzled. But Philippe just let his arm relax, and the book fell onto Louis’s lap. “You read. I’ll pour.”

***

It had been years since Louis had read _The Song of Roland_. It had been long enough, in fact, that he had forgotten how much he enjoyed the poem. And this rediscovery could not have happened in a more perfect setting. Here, before a warm fire, a glass of wine, his feet stretched out on his brother’s lap, Philippe gently rubbing back and forth over the sore ankle, reading aloud. And they had just reached one of Louis’s favorite passages.

Philippe read:

 

Roland is brave and Oliver is wise;

Both are marvelous vassals.

Now that they are armed and mounted on their horses,

Neither will avoid the fray for fear of death.

The counts are brave and their words lofty;

The treacherous pagans ride on in great fury.

Oliver said: “Roland, just see all this;

The enemy is near us, Charles is so far away.

You did not deign to blow your horn;

If the king were here, we should suffer no harm.

Look up towards the Spanish pass;

The rearguard, as you see, is in a sorry plight.

Those who are part of this one will never form another.”

Roland replies: “Do not speak of such outrage;

A curse on the heart which cowers in the breast!

We shall stand firm and hold our ground;

It is we who shall deal the blows and hack men down.”

 

While he read, his hand traveled farther up Louis’s leg. Louis knew Philippe did so without intent, his mind focused on reading the poetry, but Louis felt his stomach flutter, and he did not think he could blame the meal or the wine. Louis emptied his glass down his throat as quickly as he could.

“And with that it is time I went to bed,” Louis said when Philippe finished the laisses.

“But we’ve just reached the best part,” said Philippe, stopping with his elegant fingers on Louis’s knee. “Let me pour you another glass. Oh, the Bordeaux I was telling you about last night!” Philippe tossed the book aside and carefully settled Louis’s feet on a pillow where he had been sitting.

“No. I should go to bed. It has been a long day. We can read more tomorrow.”

“Nonsense. You must try this wine.” Philippe was kneeling at a small table at the head of his bed on the right until he suddenly spun around and popped up holding the Bordeaux. “I keep everything truly important in this bedroom in this table,” he smirked.

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Louis said, willing himself not to think about what else might be in in the drawers and behind the doors of that table. “But, please, I do not wish to have any more wine. I want to go to bed.”

“And how are you planning to get there, h’m? What if I refuse to help you?

Philippe stopped at the other end of the sofa, disheveled and lovely, and picked up his glass and poured the wine into it. He shrugged and held the glass out to Louis. “I will not help you to bed until you at least have a sip of this wine.”

Louis attempted his most imperious glare. It was not something anyone else at court could have managed while sitting with his legs stretched out on a sofa, half undressed. And only Philippe could prove immune to such a look, damn him. “I will go to bed, whether you help me or not. As I said, I came here to do for myself. Simply because I have suffered this setback, that does not mean I will be a victim of your whims.”

He swung his feet off the sofa. Merely having his foot flat on the floor caused pain to register, even through the wine and the anger. But he would not be stopped. Philippe stood in the line of his most direct path to his room. Never mind. Louis would walk around the back of the sofa. Philippe would never shift to then bar his way.

So, Louis stood and gritted his teeth, and used the back of the sofa to balance himself. When he managed to hobble almost all the way to the other end, the room silent, except for his labored breathing, Philippe took one swift step to the side and prevented Louis from passing unless he let go of the sofa. Of course, he would have to give up the sofa’s support to get to the door, but Louis had not thought that far ahead. He had only known that he needed to get away from Philippe, recognizing now that whatever ideas he had entertained at Versailles that had driven him here must be forgotten.

“Taste the wine,” Philippe whispered deliberately. “One sip and I will carry you to bed and tuck you in with the same care as a mother with her favorite son.”

“No,” Louis answered. “Let me pass.”

“If I let you pass, you’ll fall on your face. Take a sip of wine.”

Louis, unable to look at his brother, pushed off from the sofa. He tried to hurry around Philippe and heard a clink of glass before he lost his balance and staggered toward the foot of the bed. Philippe caught him with one arm and leaned them against the mattress—not quite upright or on the bed. “Taste the damned wine,” Philippe said, pressing two damp fingers to his lips. He must have dipped them in the glass when he set it down, and now here they were, glistening against Louis’s mouth.

“Go on,” Philippe whispered, pressing softly at Louis’s lips. “I know you want a taste. Just open your mouth.”

Without meaning to obey, without willing himself to do so, Louis’s lips parted, and Philippe’s fingers slipped inside, past his teeth and over his tongue. Louis closed his eyes and sucked gently.

“Yes, that’s what I was beginning to suspect,” Philippe whispered in Louis’s ear. “Why did you really come to Saint-Cloud?”

Louis panted around Philippe’s fingers, reluctant to let them go and not wanting to answer. He did not wish to speak the words out loud. Surely Philippe would not make him, since he must know.

“Come here,” Philippe said, wrapping his arm tightly around Louis’s waist and pulling their bodies together. Louis’s stiffening prick pressed hard against Philippe’s thigh, and Louis could not prevent himself from licking the fingers still in his mouth. “Is this why you’re here brother?” Philippe rubbed his leg hard against Louis’s erection. “Because I think this is _exactly_ why you’re here. Why you wanted us to be alone.”

Then Philippe slid his fingers from Louis’s mouth. Louis tried to bite down and keep them, but Philippe was too quick. “Answer me, brother,” Philippe said as he grabbed Louis’s behind and pushed them harder together. “Is this why you’re here?”

“Don’t call me ‘brother.’ Not now.” Louis moved to kiss Philippe, a second earlier having no notion he would do so once he found his mouth free.

But Philippe pulled his face away. “Let’s not pretend this is anything other than what it is. I don’t care about it one way or the other. Why should you?”

“I...I need this. With you.”

Philippe’s mouth hovered just above Louis’s neck as it moved slowly to his ear. “So that is what you came for.” Gently, he took Louis’s earlobe between his lips. Much less gently, Louis grasped his shoulder to keep from collapsing, this threat wholly unrelated to his injury. “But why, I wonder?” Philippe whispered. He pulled his face back so he and Louis could look at each other. “Are you curious what it would be like to be with a man and you didn’t know who else you could safely approach? I’d have happily provided you names.”

Louis had not meant to react to Philippe’s wrong guess, at least not until he decided if he could answer the question. But his lips turned down without his consent, Philippe’s eyebrows popped up, apparently surprised at Louis’s denial of this particular theory.

“Not that, then,” Philippe’s lips brushed Louis’s cheek as he moved to the other ear, flicking it with his tongue. “Then perhaps you just wondered what it would be like with me.”

Philippe sucked softly under Louis’s ear, and he trembled, but not only at the kiss. His brother was nearing the truth Louis still had no liking to admit to himself. He weaved his fingers into Philippe’s hair, hoping to finally pull him into a kiss where neither of them could speak to ask awkward questions or be forced to answer them.

But, of course, Philippe—stubborn, beautiful Philippe—laced his own fingers in Louis’s hair, and yanked Louis away at the very moment their lips fluttered against each other. “Tell me, brother. What do you want from me?”

“I want to not be king. If only for a heartbeat.”

Philippe pressed his mouth to Louis’s, forced his lips apart with his tongue, and kissed him like no subject should his sovereign lord. After searching every inch of his mouth, Philippe settled back and rested Louis’s more comfortably on the bed. “I’ll make you forget everything, brother. Lie back.”

Louis did as he was told, his legs still dangling off the end of the bed. He watched Philippe remove his shirt, revealing his flawless skin, as he moved back to the table where he had gotten the wine. “Are you warm?” he asked over his shoulder.

Now that he stopped to think about anything beyond his desire for Philippe, Louis realized that his flesh felt like fire. “Yes.”

Philippe cocked his head and stared for a moment when he stood up. “Then why don’t you take off your shirt?”

“Is that what you want of me?”

A sly smirk broke across Philippe’s face. “What I want? Yes, this is going to be different, isn’t it? Yes, Louis,” Philippe said, returning to kneel at Louis’s feet at the end of the bed. “I want you to take your shirt off.”

Louis sat up again so he could remove his shirt for Philippe. Philippe, his brother, who knelt at his feet, but who did not look upon him like a brother or a king. “What will you do?” Louis asked as he tossed his shirt to the floor.

“Even though you said you were not here in curiosity for what it is like to be with a man, I am, in fact, one, no matter how mother would have had me.” He rubbed his hands up and down Louis’s thighs. “So, I think a brief introduction into the Italian Vice might be appropriate. Just an introduction, mind you.” Philippe bent down and kissed Louis’s erection through his breeches. “I wouldn’t want to frighten or hurt you. The first time.”

Louis reveled in Philippe’s impish grin, and yet, the words troubled him. “You do not wish to frighten me, because I am the king? I told you, I do not wish to be treated thus.”

Philippe, who had been resting back on his heels now rose onto his knees so he could nearly look Louis eye-to-eye. “No. Because I care about your wellbeing. I think it will be much more difficult for you to forget you are king than it will be for me.”

“But I have been sucked before,” was the best response Louis could muster, with Philippe’s accusation leaving him flustered. And for a long time, Philippe did not say anything further, and Louis could only stare as his brother’s long, pale fingers pulled his breeches down until he could get them no farther. Without hesitating, Louis pushed himself up, and Philippe removed the last of his clothing.

“This will be different, I assure you.”

Louis was achingly hard and longing for release, and the smooth, deliberate pace at which Philippe moved made Louis want to scream. But if he was here to not give orders, to not demand, to not have his needs matter above those of others, he could say nothing. He must wait for Philippe to finish stroking his legs and kissing his knees, and rubbing his cheek on Louis’s thigh, while peering up at him. And Louis sat quivering, watching his cock leak in anticipation.

When Louis thought he could take it no longer and he trembled as though he had been left out in the snow, in spite of the sweat coating his body, when he thought he would not demand anything of his brother, but he might beg; at that moment, Philippe swirled his tongue over the tip of Louis’s cock. Louis collapsed back on the bed. Philippe swallowed Louis whole, his mouth brushing Louis’s body.

Philippe had been right. Women beyond count had wrapped their lips around his cock, but nothing had ever felt like this. He wondered if Philippe did something differently, because he had a cock of his own, or if he merely had a natural aptitude beyond that of the ladies at court. But at this moment, Louis cared less why his brother performed this specific act so spectacularly than the fact he was doing so at this moment.

And Philippe seemed content to do this indefinitely. Every time Louis neared his climax, Philippe would suck a little less hard, take him a bit less deeply, break up his rhythm. And then he would lick and kiss, and both of them would moan.

“Are you pleased, brother? Have you forgotten your worries and your crown?”

Louis licked his lips in time with Philippe licking up his shaft. “I have decidedly less interest in the cares of the world.”

“But I am sure more than one woman has managed that feat before. I must do better.”

With a contented hum, Louis consented as he wiped damp hair from his forehead. “What are you doing that is so different than what a woman does? This is magnificent.”

“I think it’s mostly my ability to not see this as the royal scepter. And I know exactly how rough I can be.” Philippe wrapped his lips around the head of Louis’s cock and sucked with far more force than any woman had ever attempted. It was almost too much, but Philippe was right—he knew precisely where the line was. “Many of them also don’t know or are unwilling to try the most useful trick. I’m quite sure it’s decidedly more popular with my set than yours.”

As Louis tried to guess to what Philippe might refer, he heard a clink of glass. Philippe had gotten something out of the mysterious bedside table, and perhaps Louis was about to discover what. But all the while, Philippe’s tongue played over and around Louis’s cock, and his mind was not terribly efficient. He certainly had not guessed the next sensation to greet him would be a slick, cool finger at his anus.

Louis opened his eyes and raised his head to present his brother with his most quizzical glare. Philippe lapped at Louis’s cock and still managed to smirk. “That’s what I guessed. I thought perhaps Montespan might have broached the subject with you, noted pervert that she is, but apparently, you are right—I am the only person in France who can forget you are the king.”

“You said you would not hurt me.” Louis hated his words and his trembling voice the moment he heard himself speak.

“And I said I was going to introduce you to the Italian Vice. And that I would make you forget you were king. Either you trust me, Louis, or you leave my bed this very moment.”

Louis’s cock twitched as though it wished to beg him not to leave him in such a state. Philippe, who had teased and supported Louis as a child, who had tended him when sick and pushed him in a cold river, who said he had his back and then left him, wanted Louis to trust him. Louis’s breath came raggedly, but at this moment, it had nothing to do with lust. He had come to Saint-Cloud because Philippe was the only person he could trust. In spite of anything else that happened between them, Louis could count on Philippe when it mattered most. In this, Philippe could be his savior.

“Yes,” Louis said. “I trust you, brother.”

Philippe closed his eyes and slowly dropped his mouth around Louis’s cock. At the same time, that finger circled his entrance, setting his entire body tingling. Philippe bobbed his head up and down a few times, and then as his tongue swirled around the head a few times, the finger slipped inside.

The sensation was odd at first. The circling before penetration had been quite pleasant, better than having the finger inside him, he thought. But after slipping in and almost out a few times, Philippe bent his finger when it was deep inside him. Louis could not contain his scream.

He could also not contain his spend. Immediately upon Philippe touching whatever that was inside him, Louis came in his brother’s mouth. No, not his mouth, but deep in his throat, Philippe had swallowed him so completely. Louis convulsed and grasped at the bedding, trying to tether himself in some way to this earth.

After Louis finished, Philippe still held him in his mouth for a few seconds. He hummed and then gently let Louis’s withering cock drop to his abdomen. “We’ll have to work on that lasting a bit longer,” Philippe said. “But I imagine you forgot yourself for a moment.” He kissed Louis’s stomach before resting his head in Louis’s groin.

“I still have no idea who I am. What year is this?” Louis chuckled, and Philippe smiled and kissed him again.

After lying contentedly for several minutes, Louis reveling in his euphoria and the warmth of Philippe’s cheek on his skin, Philippe shifted. Louis wanted to reach down and hold his brother in place. He even went so far as to push his fingers into Philippe’s hair, but he did not grab or hold him in place. He allowed the black strands to fall from his fingers and his brother to stand. But he could not refrain from asking, “Why are you getting up? I was…content.”

“And I need to wash my hands, have a long drink of wine, and see about my own contentment.” Philippe walked to the other side of the bed where a basin of water always sat. He watched Philippe wash and dry his hands before returning to the sofa and the small table next to it where the glass of Bordeaux still sat. Louis pulled himself up onto the bed more comfortably, not certain what might be coming next.

Over his wine glass, Philippe studied Louis. He did not feel awkward, used to the eyes of the world upon him, yet Philippe made it somehow feel different. Somehow, Louis knew his brother was using criteria in his examination of him that no one else employed. Louis noticed more than Philippe’s gaze, though. No one permitted to behold Philippe could fail to notice his smooth skin, his slight but sturdy frame. And once he set down his wine glass, he finally stepped out of his own breeches and peeled off his stockings. Even though Louis had seen him naked the day before when they were swimming, this was a wholly new experience. Now Philippe was naked with intent, his prick swollen and ready to burst.

Philippe lazily made his way to the bed, sliding up on Louis’s right side. He stretched himself out and felt up and down Louis’s torso. “So, now that I have washed and had my wine, what shall we do about my contentment?”

And it only now struck Louis that he was meant to do something.

He knew how to please a woman, either independently or in conjunction with achieving his own pleasure. As painful and awkward as the lessons had been, that he had been taught. But sexually satisfying another man? He hadn’t the first clue.

“I…I am sorry. I do not know what I should do. I am quite sure I cannot do what you did.”

Philippe reached over and tucked hair behind Louis’s ear. As he moved his hand back, he dragged his knuckles across Louis’s cheek. “That is fine. I didn’t expect you to know. But there are many ways you can help me.” With dry lips, gentle and closed, Philippe kissed Louis. “Perhaps you could take me in hand. That is a simple place to start.”

“I suppose that might work,” Louis answered, afraid he would make a hash of the procedure.

Philippe kissed his chin. “It’s a good place to start. We’re both men. Just touch me as you touch yourself. We most likely enjoy the same thing.”

“We…yes.” Louis stopped speaking. How could he explain to his brother that it had been years since he had touched himself in such a manner? It had been doing so as an adolescent and the mess he left behind that had led his mother to send him his “tutor.” Since then, if Louis had desired release, he had someone at hand to do it for him.

“You do masturbate on occasion, do you not?” Philippe asked, his tone less honeyed than it had been.

“Not recently.”

Philippe pushed him away. “Unbelievable. I guess it really is going to be impossible for either of us to forget for long who is king.”

“Oh, and you are so shy of partners you are forced to your own devices with regularity.” Louis sat up, propping himself against the headboard for a little leverage.

“When you kill my wife with your pointless missions and chase away my lover, I am left rather with no choice.”

“Do not bring Henriette into this. You fucked her a handful of times out of duty.”

“And I fought your even more pointless war out of duty. A good many months when I had no friend but this,” Philippe wiggled the fingers of his right hand as he pushed himself into a seated position.

“I thought soldiers always managed to find someone to satisfy their needs.”

“What?” Philippe said with wide dramatic eyes. “The pox-ridden whores that follow the camp are not really my type for several reasons. And when you’re the commander, the men under you, well, they can’t really become the men under you, if you see what I’m saying.”

“So your proclivities leading to your abstinence in war is my fault? Shall I send to Italy for some whores of your ilk before the next campaign?” Louis knew his words were cruel before they even came out, but he could not help himself. Philippe could always make him angry like no one else in the world could. He could calmly talk to any ally, any king who wanted him dead, or courtier who wished to stab him in the back, with equanimity. But Philippe, always able to find the places that hurt the most, Louis could not manage.

“Get out.”

“You may have forgotten, but I cannot walk to my room.”

Philippe jumped from the bed and raced around it. Unlike as he had before, when he picked Louis up, Philippe gripped him tightly, pinching the skin and crushing bones. He stomped with Louis in his arms through the door into the other room. Without slowing, Philippe went straight up to the bed and stopped abruptly. He tossed Louis without a word, turned, and left, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song of Roland excerpt is from the Penguin edition translated by Glyn Burgess.


	7. Chapter 7

Louis laid in bed long after he woke, not wishing to call out to anyone for help. The night had been long and restless, too much wine and guilt riling his stomach. The realization his overwhelming emotion was guilt had probably been the most shocking part of the night, and that included what his brother had done to him. Louis had not given enough thought to what he hoped to achieve with this visit to Philippe, only knowing that somehow his needs were tied up in sex and that only Philippe could help. What had escaped his notice was that he could not simply present himself to take what he needed without giving something back to his brother. Last night he had failed Philippe. Today, somehow, he must find the means of making amends. So much of their conversation the night before had consisted of Philippe pressing Louis to articulate his desires. Louis had thought his reluctance due to the awkwardness of what he believed his true desires to be. In the night, as he discovered his guilt, he saw his hesitation owed more to not understanding his wants than to not wishing to discuss them.

Today, that must change.

When Louis heard Philippe stirring in the next room, he hopped from the bed and wrapped himself in his dressing gown. Carefully supporting himself on furniture at the edge of the room, he reached the door connecting them. After a quick scratch, he opened it.

“Good morning,” Louis said, leaning against the door frame.

“You shouldn’t be on that foot,” Philippe said. He stood naked at his wardrobe, his back to Louis, and he did not turn around to address him.

“Perhaps you could ask your staff if someone has a pair of crutches I can use. The lounge is lovely, but does not quite serve all my needs.”

“And we must always be aware of your needs.”

Louis wanted to chastise Philippe for twisting his words, but he could not blame his brother. “That is actually a topic I would like to discuss with you.”

“Your needs, yes. A fascinating subject. I can think of nothing I would rather talk about. Except perhaps cabbages.”

“Cabbages?”

“Just a silly joke, and not one that is particularly funny. But whatever you have to say about your needs, say it fast. I’m going to Paris for the day.” Philippe pulled a shirt out of his wardrobe and slipped it over his head.

“Paris? I cannot go to Paris, and I had rather hoped we could spend the day together.”

Philippe turned and frowned at Louis. For a moment, he only stared, but then he sighed dramatically and stomped toward Louis. “Yes. You came here so we could have time alone. I remember. And yet, I don’t know that I would call our brotherly bonding time a complete success. Would you?” He threw Louis’s arm around his shoulders and then wrapped an arm of his own around Louis’s waist to haul him over to the sofa and deposited him there.

Louis watched Philippe return to the wardrobe, and he resigned himself to beginning what he had to say to his brother’s back. “You asked me repeatedly last night why I was here and what I really wanted. I did not realize until a few hours ago the truth of what motivated me to come here.” Philippe slowed his search through the endless row of breeches, although he did not turn and face Louis. But at least he was listening. “It is more than merely a wish to forget that I am king for a moment or two. I want to not be served, but to serve someone else. I failed in that last night, and I know I have no one to blame but myself.”

“Oh, you could always blame mother a bit.” Philippe still stayed with his clothes, but Louis could see his profile enough to catch a twitch of lips.

“I long for a release from responsibility and decision making. I control so much, and I want to feel what it is like to not have control, to not be the one directing events. But I am king, and I do not wish to be otherwise, and yet I am overwhelmed. There is no other person in the world I can trust but you. I must turn myself over entirely to someone else for a time before I am crushed under the weight of who I am. Will you help me, brother?”

Philippe slowly nodded. “Yes, brother. I'll try.”

***

Philippe had not expected Louis’s confession. No, he assumed his brother would act innocent and aloof as always today, ignoring the disaster of the night before. He had been so sure of this, and equally sure about his inability to face Louis for the entire day, that he had made plans to go to Paris. Plans he could not easily cancel, messages having already been sent ahead to announce his coming. _You’re the Duke of Orleans, brother to the king. You can send a second message canceling, and no one can complain_.

He glanced at Louis and then back at the breeches in his hand. He stepped into them, seeing no purpose in debating his next choice half naked. But what would he decide to do? Even though Louis had explained his feelings and Philippe could sympathize and forgive so much of what had happened during Louis’s visit, including the manner in which he had emptied Saint-Cloud, he did not know how he felt about it. He had said without hesitation that he would help Louis achieve this release that he needed, but was he prepared to do so? He knew how, his experiments over the years in true submission having yielded the pure, floating sensation he thought Louis longed for. But could he give that to Louis? He believed he might be able to, yet he could do nothing without more thought.

“But not today,” Philippe said, tucking his shirt into his waist band. “I really do have things I must attend to in Paris.”

“Yes,” Louis said. “I’ve no doubt you can have your needs attended to in Paris.”

Philippe had not expected such a bitter response from his brother. _When will you learn that in those moments when you feel amenable toward Louis, that does not mean he feels amenable toward you?_ “I said I would help you,” Philippe answered, trying to keep his voice even as he nearly strangled himself tying the lace around his throat. “If you decide that you no longer desire it, please tell me when I return, and I will happily withdraw the offer.”

“What is so important in Paris that it cannot wait?”

Louis’s tone retained a note of anger, but marginally less bile. Philippe grabbed the jacket that matched his breeches and the first pair of stockings he could find laying about that would not clash. _I really do miss having someone else get all of this out for me_. He then joined Louis on the sofa to finish dressing.

But his jacket and stockings hung over the arm of the sofa as he studied his lap and tried to answer his brother’s question. “I’ve already sent word to some people to expect me today. But more than that….” He trailed off, not knowing how to speak the truth but not wishing to tell a lie. “I need to think, Louis. Can you give me that? A little space to think?” Finally, he met Louis’s eyes, no clue what he should expect.

Louis had a gift that consisted of maintaining an utterly still countenance, even while you knew emotions raged and battled inside him. Philippe found it impossible. He started pulling on his stockings to avoid his brother’s blankness.

“You must do what you have to,” Louis answered. “I will still be here when you return.”

His voice was cold and the words seemed to cost him dearly, but Philippe had needed them, and he would cling to them and hope he might thaw Louis upon his return.

“I appreciate that.” Philippe stood, his feet in their stockings, and pulled on his jacket. His hair was rather a mess, but he would not take the time to do more than run a brush through it while he slipped on his shoes. But he could not leave Louis quite yet. He walked to Louis’s end of the sofa, although it was not until he paused at Louis’s side that his brother looked up. Philippe smiled, praying Louis would know how sincere it was. When he reached out a tentative hand toward Louis’s cheek, Philippe received no reaction. _He never wants anything to show. Helping him lose control would be the best thing I could do for him_. Even without any encouragement, Philippe bent down and placed his lips on Louis’s. At first, Louis remained as passive as ever, but when Philippe pressed harder, became more insistent, Louis’s defenses broke. He opened his mouth and welcomed Philippe’s tongue, his breath catching and the force of his own passion matching Philippe’s.

“We’ll figure something out when I get back; I promise,” Philippe whispered into his brother’s mouth. “I promise.”

***

When his carriage drove down the gravel lane of Saint-Cloud, Philippe found himself flush and more at sea than ever, the taste of Louis still on his lips. Had he really promised his brother, both in words and actions, that he would solve all of Louis’s problems with sex? _How absurd are you? Your life is a never-ending turmoil mostly because of sex. How do you intend to solve your brother’s troubles that way?_

The perpetual ache in his own breeches did not help matters. He’d gone to sleep unsatisfied the night before, too angry to deal with the issue himself. When he had first started to come awake that morning, he was already hard, and he had briefly reached down and wrapped his fingers around himself. But when he had thought of Louis in the next room possibly walking in and discovering him thus, he’d reluctantly let go. Louis coming into the room while he stood naked at his wardrobe only exacerbated the issue.

And kissing him? Philippe licked his lips, remembering the feel of Louis’s delicate mouth against his own. God, but nothing had ever felt so exciting. But Philippe maintained enough of his right mind to know he and Louis could do nothing about their feelings at that moment. A servant may arrive, no matter what Philippe had said about them staying away. And more than that—he _must_ think. What were he and Louis really going to do?

Because even if they achieved this nebulous submission and release Louis desired now, it was hardly a long-term solution. He and Louis could not randomly sneak away from court whenever the mood struck Louis, and they certainly could not do at Versailles what they had done last night or even that morning. _And this morning had only been a kiss. A beautiful kiss I want again_.

Knowing how important it was to come up with answers to all these questions did not help Philippe to focus, however. His mind lay scattered over his bed where he had left Louis with a book and a love bite on his shoulder. And his throbbing cock would be neglected no longer.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered as he pulled down the curtains on both sides of the carriage. The drive from Saint-Cloud to his dressmaker, his first stop with his ripped dress, was an easy one of perhaps half an hour, a bit of which he had already wasted thinking aimlessly. _But this won’t take long. If you just look at it with enough intent, you’ll likely spurt all over the opposite seat_.

Shaking out the silk handkerchief in his pocket, he loosened his breeches and slipped them down just enough to free his erection. The silk felt cool and smooth in his hand, and even better when he wrapped it around his waiting prick.

He sighed with relief as he slouched down to find a more comfortable angle. As always, he started soft and slow, almost teasing, but this part never lasted long, the mental torture of not knowing when the tease might end missing when you were doing it to yourself. So quite soon, Philippe had a tight grip, the silk allowing him speed he could not otherwise achieve holding himself so firmly.

It only took finding a rhythm and recalling the taste of Louis’s spend to have Philippe hurriedly adjusting the handkerchief to catch his own spend. Philippe felt both relieved and frustrated that he finished so quickly. The ease of release, obviously, was much welcome, but that was the only bright spot in the act. It had all happened before he had a chance to even work up a basic fantasy about Louis, and Philippe found that he longed to dream of his brother. Never had he taken such a liberty, but now that the possibility had presented itself and he had decided he did not care about any of the things that should have held him back from desiring his own brother, Philippe was excited. _Fucking thrilled might come closer to the mark_. Yet, he still had to decide how and where and in what manner he most wanted Louis, and it would have been pleasant to try one out here.

But he also had not been able to think about what Louis might want and need of him, which was the ostensible point. Philippe may be free of his own aching cock, but it had not cleared his mind as he had hoped. He did not know what to do with his brother, and he only had one short day to figure it out. _And you’ve rather literally blown one of the guides you might have used to figure it out. Well done as always_.

Annoyed with his inability to do anything properly, Philippe swore and stuffed himself back in his breeches. He had no desire to keep the handkerchief, however. Yanking back the curtain on one of the windows, he shoved the window down and tossed the handkerchief out. The city stood but a few minutes away.


	8. Chapter 8

Louis had only a solitary thought after Philippe left him in his bed, thoroughly kissed, but utterly unsatisfied. But Philippe sent servants in to bathe and dress him and bring him food before he could act on the thought. As the endless parade of morning necessities continued, a beat-up old sunburned man arrived with crutches. He had guessed Louis’s height quite accurately, and they needed no trimming. And just when he thought it would all end, the physician arrived for his checkup. Yet through it all, while Louis was forced to allow people to dote on him, he had only the one concern, one objective for the day, and it did not involve quietly reading _The Song of Roland_.

No, Louis wanted to see what Philippe kept in his bedside table.

Last night he had taken wine and oil from it and teased him with other treasures. Louis would not rest until he had the room to himself so he might inspect it. However, he feared he might never get the chance. With Philippe gone, his servants uniformly appeared to be under the impression he no longer wished for solitude. How surprised would they be to learn how fervently Louis wished to emulate them. A good servant anticipated his master’s needs, and Louis believed the bedside table would tell him with desperately needed clarity what his brother wanted.

He did believe Philippe would want him to appear at his very best, so Louis allowed the servants to help him with a complete toilet, save the last few bits of clothing he felt no urge to wear all day alone. In addition to dress, he consented to be bathed, scented, and have a slight curl added to his hair. When he reached a level of respectable appearance that would not be out of place at Versailles, he sent everyone away, and insisted his solitude remain entire unless he called. Philippe’s staff nodded, confused, but surely not unaccustomed to whimsical instructions. His own two guards bowed, their faces as set and impassive as always. They, Louis well knew, were likely to tackle any of Philippe’s servants rather than allow them to disturb the king. And contrary as that impulse was to Louis’s desires, he appreciated the ease it gave him.

Once alone, Louis used his new crutches to make his way from the lounge to the mysterious bedside table. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he could open the top drawer, so he did so with no further delay. He understood the general use of many of the items, but remained uncertain about the precise differences between them. (He assumed there must be some theory behind when a large marble phallus was preferable to a small leather one or wavy wooden one.) The purpose of the ties he could guess at easily enough, but he wondered if his brother liked to be tied or to do the tying. Louis supposed he could put them out for Philippe to notice and work from there, his own preference not mattering. The rest of the drawer was crowded with glass bottles of oil, the variety an exciting surprise that piqued his interest.

Below the drawer was a small cabinet where the Bordeaux had come from. Uncertain if it contained any additional treasures, Louis slipped to the floor for a better angle. He should order additional bottles of Philippe’s favorite wines as a thoughtful gesture. However, adding to the pornography collection that spilled out would be a bit more interesting. Louis grinned at the filthy pamphlets of men bent over tables, sucking one another’s cocks behind pillars, and all the rest. He remembered the first dirty pictures that had come in his way when he was a boy. They had been given to him by Rohan, and Louis had immediately run off to show the drawing of the naked lady to Philippe, who had been utterly unimpressed.

Not wishing to succumb to the melancholy that threatened to take him, Louis gathered the pamphlets into a neat pile and set them back inside the cabinet. Other than wine and a few glasses, the last article inside was a thin volume bound in faded bluish-gray leather. It had no title on the cover, and he allowed it to fall open at random. The pamphlets had failed to have any sort of impact on him, but the illustration here had his jaw falling wide open. He flipped the page and gasped aloud at the diagram. Another page and his eyes went wide. This book, he realized as he leafed furiously back to the beginning, was an instruction manual on how one man might please another. Closing the door on the table, Louis climbed back into bed to settle in with his day’s reading.

***

When Louis heard Philippe’s carriage return, he finished his preparations and adjusted his cuffs. Everything would go flawlessly—he had spent the entire day on this plan and anticipated all his brother’s needs. Tonight, Louis would serve Philippe as thoroughly as his injury allowed. And perhaps he could even succeed in what the book had described as the “ultimate release.” Not wishing to appear helpless, Louis used his crutches to move himself to the back of the sofa where he might lean nonchalantly and greet his brother.

“And supper is already ordered?” Louis heard Philippe ask from not far beyond the bedroom door. “Well, that’s rather nice. Give me fifteen minutes to change and bring it right up, assuming his majesty has no objections.”

“He specifically said we should do as pleased you, your highness.”

Philippe opened the door and grinned at Louis. “Did he now?”

Louis wetted his lips. “Yes, I did. And fifteen minutes will suit me.”

Philippe nodded to the servant. “I’ll see you again in fifteen minutes.” He stepped inside and allowed the servant to close the door. “Had a nice day ordering my household around have you?”

But Philippe said the words with a smile as he made his way for Louis. Every part of Louis twitched in anticipation, including his prick, which had been hard most of the day, and at this particular moment, he thought he might not be able to hold off until after they ate. “I have enjoyed preparing for your return.”

“Mm,” Philippe purred as he stopped with his body brushing Louis’s. “And here I’ve spent most of the day planning for you.”

“But I wish to serve you, brother. Surely that is best.”

Philippe chuckled and shook his head. “For now, we shall say that it is.” He kissed Louis then, a slow, thoughtful kiss, full of promise for a leisurely night together. “So, besides my favorite meal, what do you have in store for me?”

Louis leaned forward and initiated the kiss, and in it he tried to express the passion he felt for Philippe. “I am preparing myself for you.”

“Yes,” Philippe said, pushing up against Louis’s erection. “I can well see, and feel, just how ready you are.”

“No, brother. It is more than that.” Louis took Philippe’s left hand from where it rested on his hip. Slowly, while he looked his brother in the eye, he pulled the hand behind him and pushed it down the back of his breeches until it met the end of the smallish leather phallus sticking out of him. According to the book, this was the best choice in Philippe’s collection specifically for the purpose of readying oneself for sodomy. Louis had been willing to undergo any trial or pain to make certain he provided Philippe everything he was capable of giving. He should have realized after the night before, however, that having the phallus inserted actually brought him extreme pleasure. He almost felt a twinge of guilt at how much.

Philippe’s face raced through several emotions, beginning with surprise and ending with concern, passing through admiration and displeasure along the way. “You have been in my bedside table.”

“I found the book there decidedly more stimulating than _The Song of Roland_.”

Philippe snorted. “I’ve no doubt of that. In fact, the only part of this I question is you agreeing to supper in,” he glanced at the clock on the mantle, “ten minutes.”

“According to the book, this will be most effective if I wear it for an hour, and I’ve only just put it in.”

“And you intend to sit down and eat with me while it is placed thus?” Philippe, whose hand had remained on the end of the phallus, wiggled it gently. It set off every sensation in his body, and he had to clasp the back of the sofa to maintain his balance.

“Yes,” Louis panted. “If you will have me thus.”

“It doesn’t hurt? You coated it thoroughly with oil?”

“I did precisely as the text instructed. Although, I would love for you to explain the different uses for the oils. I hope I used the proper one.”

Philippe swiftly kissed Louis and pulled them closer so that their now mutual erections might press together. “If it feels good, and I get the impression that it does, you used the right oil.”

***

Supper was an impossible meal of lust, responsibility, and love waging a war within Philippe that would not stop. _Nothing half so sexy has ever happened to me, and I gave up on new and surprising experiences long ago. But is this best for Louis? He’s tried so hard, and yet, that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? What am I going to do with him? Obviously, I want to fuck him, but should I? Will it help him?_

Eventually, Philippe needed to make a decision as the last of the plates were cleared away, and he and Louis sat sipping the Bordeaux. If Louis truly wished to relinquish control, he would have to be taught this level of initiative was precisely the wrong thing to do. But Philippe did not think he had the heart to teach his brother that lesson tonight. _You also don’t have the strength to turn down something you want so badly. Don’t lie to yourself_.

“I do not believe I have ever seen you so pensive, brother,” Louis said, sliding his hand over Philippe’s on the table. “I hope you still desire, well, me.”

Philippe flipped his hand around so he could now grasp Louis’s palm-to-palm. “There is no question as to my desire.”

“Then what would you like me to do for you? I am only too willing.”

Louis’s hand felt so soft and sturdy in Philippe’s grip, and if Philippe was supposed to be the strong one here, he had failed utterly. _But if I have extensive practice at anything, it is looking strong when I am not. For Louis’s sake, I will find a way to at least appear as though I am in control. It’s not as though I don’t know how to fuck a man_.

With fresh determination to make this good for his brother, Philippe squeezed Louis’s hand and dressed up his face with his most imperious grin. “I think I would like you naked and stretched out on my bed.”

“I would like to do that for you very much,” Louis smirked back. The table they sat at stood a good ten feet from the bed, and when he looked at the distance, Louis’s smile faded. When he turned back, Philippe did all he could to appear as haughty as possible. “The servants seem to have moved my crutches and leaned them on the far wall.”

“And you are telling me this because?” Philippe tilted his head in exaggerated confusion. “Recounting your tale of woe does nothing to get you naked and on my bed.”

“I thought it might move you to help me get there,” Louis said, his tone proving his desire and his ability to eschew making demands of others were not yet in accord.

Philippe dropped both of his hands in his lap and leaned across the table. “Why don’t you crawl?”

Louis flinched, but Philippe did not move an inch or lower his gaze. Several long seconds saw them sitting still at the table, wills battling. But then Louis closed his eyes and sank from his chair to the floor. Philippe dug his fingers into his thighs to stop himself from grabbing his erection and spending right there at the table. That, however, was the one thing he absolutely could not do. After Louis’s utter failure the night before, Philippe would not allow Louis to avoid being part of his orgasm tonight. _Because jerking myself off to thoughts of you in my carriage is really not the same thing at all_.

When Louis reached the foot of the bed he hesitated, and briefly Philippe thought of going to help him, but he didn’t. And Louis did not need it, hoisting himself up with minimal effort once he situated himself properly. He sat on the edge and stared back at Philippe, who remained leaning across the table, hands in his lap.

“Yes?” Philippe asked. “Do you need instructions in removing your clothes?”

“Are you intending to stay at the table?”

Philippe sat back and crossed his legs while he sipped his wine, all the while fixing Louis with a withering gaze. “I fail to understand how where I sit affects you being naked and sprawled out on my bed. That is what I requested, is it not?”

Louis nodded, clearly not happy. Philippe guessed that his brother had not merely spent the day preparing for this moment, but had played out the scenario in his head several times, but never once had Philippe behaved this way. _Good. Perhaps if he’s off his guard, I can get inside it_.

Beginning with his cravat, Louis began undressing himself. Philippe loved this moment as much as any in a sexual encounter. He’d made a fetish of the act of dressing and undressing, the rules governing the acts his favorite sections in the rules of etiquette. Watching a person put himself on and then take himself off intoxicated Philippe. And he had watched Louis do so countless times, from when they were little boys to this very visit.

And yet, it had never felt like this—like Philippe was stripping him without ever touching his body.

Wiggling out of his breeches proved Louis’s most inelegant moment, but without the use of one foot, that could be excused. And besides, Philippe had not demanded grace, merely nudity, and that had now been achieved. Louis began to push himself back on the bed, to complete the last step in his instructions to sprawl, but Philippe raised a hand to stop him. “Not quite yet.” Draining his glass, he set it on the table before making his move to the bed.

Purposefully, Philippe moved his eyes over his brother’s body, from his perfect curls, over his slim chest, to his dripping prick, and down his firm legs. Through moist lips, he said, “I need you to undress me first, before you lay down.”

“With pleasure.”

Philippe threaded his fingers into Louis’s hair and yanked to force Louis to look up at him. “My pleasure, remember.”

“Yes, brother,” Louis said with lowered eyes, suggesting he was aiming for contrition.

But Philippe said nothing as Louis set to undressing him. Instead, he watched Louis attack his clothes with focus and intent. It wasn’t how a lover undressed his beloved, so much as how a servant tended his master. _Or how Louis approaches any task once he knows what he wants. Not that he can’t then shift his focus in a heartbeat. His mind is amazing. And his fingers surprisingly nimble. I’ll be naked in another heartbeat_.

In a concession to Louis’s injury, Philippe raised first one foot and then the other, so Louis could remove his shoes and stockings. A moment later, he stepped out of his breeches and stood naked before his brother. Louis couldn’t help but look, and Philippe enjoyed the feeling of those eyes on his body too much to stop it. In fact, Philippe ached so much for attention from Louis, he decided to demand more of it.

“Do you want to touch my body?” Philippe said, barely above a whisper, his voice thicker than he anticipated.

“Above all things,” Louis answered, his hands trembling in his lap.

“Above pleasing me?” Philippe asked. “It is lucky for you that what would please me at this moment is to feel your hands on my skin.”

Philippe nudged himself between Louis’s legs dangling off the bed. Wanting touched all over, he turned sideways, and Louis, understanding immediately, slid one hand up his chest and the other down his spine to the small of his back. Philippe fought to focus on every sensation and not allow himself to be overrun by the throbbing of his prick. But his breaths came more and more rapidly and he longed for all of Louis.

“You’re beautiful. Remarkably so,” Louis said, staring at where his hands made contact with Philippe’s body. “I’ve never seen someone to compare to you.”

“Is that why you want me? My beauty?” Philippe hesitated before continuing, but he felt as though he should hear the answer to his next offer before proceeding, for Louis’s sake and his. “I can give you my body alone if that is all you desire. No need for anything more complicated.”

Louis’s breath caught as he slowly drew his palm over one of Philippe’s nipples. “No. I want you to command me. Make me less than you.” Louis moved his hand to Philippe’s chin and his eyes to meet Philippe’s. “I want you inside me.”

 _There’s so much contradiction in your words, and you don’t even realize it_. Philippe dipped his head to kiss Louis’s fingers, not knowing how to explain the complexities. Not wanting to at that moment, because he also longed to be inside Louis.

Bending down, Philippe took Louis’s face in both hands and kissed him. It started passionately and quickly grew to Philippe fucking his brother’s mouth with his tongue. He would just never get over how Louis kissed, at least how Louis kissed him, and how they fit together, so effortlessly. On any other night, Philippe would have been happy to remain there, kissing Louis, hands tracing jaws, necks, backs, and arms, but he wanted Louis, who had begun to whimper. _How long exactly has he had that in his ass? He has to be fit to burst. But I want him to spend when I am inside him, so I had better get to it—there’s only so long I can expect him to hold on_.

“On the bed now,” Philippe panted against Louis’s throat, afraid to stay any nearer his lips. “All the way up to the top.”

While Louis followed his directions, Philippe walked to the bedside table. When he pulled open the drawer, it was evident someone had been in it—everything was far better arranged than Philippe ever left it. And the silk ties were on top of everything else and at the front. _Does Louis want me to tie him up? I just might do that someday, but not tonight_. He pushed the ties back and took out the first bottle of oil he found.

Flashing a filthy grin, Philippe climbed on the bed and between Louis’s legs. “Are you sure you’re ready for me, brother?”

Louis panted and his prick twitched against his stomach. “I’ve never been more ready for anything. Please, Philippe.”

Philippe uncorked the bottle of oil and dumped some onto the palm of his right hand. Shoving the cork back in, he set the bottle on the bed and coated the fingers of his left hand. Once they were prepared for duty, he petted the insides of Louis’s thighs with the fingertips of his right hand. “I will be the judge of whether or not you are ready.” Philippe allowed his right hand to travel all the way up Louis’s legs until it brushed the end of the phallus. He moved it back and forth slightly, and Louis moaned. “So, you still like how it feels inside you?”

“I’ve never felt anything to compare. What is that inside me it keeps touching?”

“That, and not this,” Philippe leaned down and kissed the salty pre-cum from the tip of Louis’s prick, “is what makes the real difference between men and women. I promise you, if more men understood what was inside them, they would all be practicing the Italian Vice.”

Louis squirmed under Philippe’s light touch. “And your cock will rub against it when you are inside me, won’t it?”

“Undoubtedly.” Philippe started to pull gently on the phallus, a delightful toy so short and thin it barely deserved the name, but perfect for this purpose, until he stopped, and pushed it back in, before rhythmically moving it back and forth. “When I take this out, you won’t like it. But then I’ll push these in to finish getting you ready for me. Yes?”

“I’m not ready now? I feel ready now.”

Philippe pushed and pulled on the phallus again, before bending to kiss Louis’s stomach. “I won’t know for sure until I can feel you.”

“Then do it,” Louis demanded.

His brother’s tone made part of Philippe want to walk away, although he didn’t. Submission clearly came so unnaturally to him, that when he became inflamed, his domineering spirit emerged. Still, Philippe thought he might succeed with him if he could be strong enough. _And God help me, I can’t leave him. I need to fuck him as much as he needs fucked_.

Deciding it might help to exert at least a touch of spite, Philippe yanked the phallus out with no further warning. Louis gasped, most assuredly ill at ease from that horrid empty sensation. Philippe bent over his brother, propping himself up with his right hand just to the side of Louis’s hip while he shoved all three oiled fingers of his other hand deep into Louis.

The grunt that escaped Louis was not entirely one of pleasure. Philippe grinned. “Not quite as ready as you thought. My prick is bigger than that.”

“I…I’ll do anything you want.”

Philippe, pleased to have cowed him a bit, twisted his fingers as his brother groaned. “You should be careful what you promise. I may hold you to that.”

“I want you to,” Louis said, his breath hitching.

In deeper but never all the way out, Philippe moved his fingers in Louis, who was so loose and nearly ready for him. _And I want him so much I can barely think. But I must. He needs to lose control, not me_. Testing him a few more times with his fingers, Philippe decided Louis was ready and passed him the bottle of oil. “Spread this on me. You will get the privilege of being fucked by me as soon as that’s done.”

Louis lost no time uncorking the bottle. As much oil splashed onto the bed and off the sides of his hand as on it, but he shifted and Philippe scooted closer, so he might coat the length of Philippe’s prick. He did not get the cork in correctly, and Philippe watched oil trickle onto the sheets, but he could not bring himself to care.

Philippe grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Louis’s hips to improve the angle. With nothing left to do but perform the act, he removed his fingers, positioned himself, and slowly pushed in. Louis’s eyes immediately rolled back in his head, and his fingers clutched Philippe’s hips. Philippe tried to dislodge those hands, to hold him down, but Louis’s grip was too tight. Not wanting to fight a losing battle, Philippe leaned over his brother and sucked at his throat. Louis spasmed and moved one hand up Philippe’s back, clawing aimlessly with it while the other pulled Philippe deeper into him.

For Philippe’s part, Louis felt amazing. Being inside him, open and tight simultaneously, thrusting was a glorious experience. But Louis was not getting from this moment what he needed. Yes, Louis clearly felt the same warmth and lust as Philippe, but he had come to Saint-Cloud hoping for a specific experience. Good sex was not in short supply at Versailles, even if Philippe as a specific partner had been unavailable, so why come all this way for merely that? And as Louis wrapped his legs around Philippe and directed his thrusts, Philippe could feel that the subservience Louis had said he desired was entirely missing from this act, no matter who might physically be on the top and who on the bottom.

Worse still, Philippe could not stop himself from thrusting into Louis, kissing him, sucking on his skin, doing, in short, what Louis wanted. And when the friction of his body against Louis’s erection caused him to spend, it inflamed Philippe, both with lust and anger. Growling, he pushed into his brother, nothing gentle or kind in the act, and overcome with fury, a moment later, he spent as well. Louis, decently enough, held him close as he rode out his orgasm, but the moment he finished, Philippe was so angry at himself and Louis, he no longer wanted to be in the same room, let alone touching.

Philippe pulled out of Louis without ceremony and rolled off him, ignoring the discontented moans. Reaching under the bedside table on the other side, he picked up two towels, tossing one to Louis and keeping one for himself. Louis’s discomfort was palpable, but Philippe refused to acknowledge it as he toweled off. Once he was clean enough, he got out of bed and threw Louis one of his nightgowns.

“Feel free to stay here. I’ll sleep in your bed.”

“What?” Louis said. “I don’t understand. That was…what is wrong?”

Philippe sighed, still not understanding how to explain anything to Louis, but also not able to not speak. “You have no idea what it means not to be in charge, to have no control, and I don’t know that you ever will.”

“But, Philippe, you just fucked me.”

“My prick may have been in your ass, but you were the one doing the fucking.” Philippe moved to the table and blew out all the candles, leaving only a lamp next to Louis burning that he could put out himself. “Good night.” Without further discussion, Philippe walked through to Louis’s bedroom and closed the door tightly behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

“But I am very pleased with your progress, your majesty.”

“Just because you are pleased does not mean I am.” Louis turned his scowl toward the window away from the physician and Philippe. His annoyance with them both had reached a level he could no longer handle with equanimity. “It feels decidedly better,” he lied about his ankle. “I do not see why you insist on me remaining immobile for the entire length you first prescribed. I see no reason why I may not begin walking on it today.”

“If you wish for it to continue feeling well, you’ll do what the physician tells you,” Philippe snapped. Philippe had been snapping at him for two days now. Louis understood he had upset Philippe the night they had fucked. To Louis’s mind, it had been remarkable, an endless succession of sensations he would never forget, but Philippe had insisted it had been wrong. Louis was missing something emotionally, according to his brother, and until Louis puzzled it out, he did not think Philippe would be civil to him again.

The previous day had been full of bickering on the few occasions they had spoken, and today looked as though it would be no different. Louis needed the physician to tell him he could walk so he might leave Saint-Cloud and return to Versailles. Remaining here with his brother perpetually disappointed in him held less than no appeal.

“Perhaps, your majesty, if I may make a suggestion,” the physician said with his condescending smile that might go over well with old noble ladies, but Louis had grown to heartily despise in only a few days. “You might employ a cane and walk short distances for a half an hour a day. It will allow you to test the rate of your recovery without straining the injury and causing a relapse. The joint, I am afraid, is still swollen.”

Louis whipped his head back around. He frowned first at the physician and then at Philippe. “I don’t suppose you have a cane laying around somewhere?”

“If not, I’ll have the cooper start carving one for you immediately,” Philippe sighed.

“Very good,” Louis said to his brother before turning back to the physician. “You will return again tomorrow.”

“If your majesty commands it, of course.”

“You will come tomorrow afternoon, once I have been able to walk on my foot twice, and you can see how ridiculous these continued restrictions are.”

“I would be pleasantly surprised to find it so,” he said with a bow.

Louis dismissed him with a turn of the head. Philippe walked him out, leaving Louis alone in the parlor on his wheeled lounge, much as he had been on the first day. It was unbelievable to him what had happened in those few days. He had bared body and soul to Philippe, and been by turns gratefully accepted and rejected. He was left groping for what Philippe wanted from and for him. More than anything, Louis yearned for Philippe to touch him again, and not merely to heft him from the bed to lounge to chair. Louis feared Philippe might never touch him again, and if that were so, Louis could not remain at Saint-Cloud, hoping.

“So,” Philippe said, rolling his eyes as he entered the room, “I suppose you would like your half hour now.”

Louis sat up straighter, a maneuver he still could not execute elegantly on the lounge. “I would. If you would join me in your gardens, I think that would be pleasant.”

“Pleasant. Yes.” Philippe paused to glare with a frown. “This all assumes I can even find a cane.”  
  
“You said you had one.”

Philippe sighed once more and stomped off to the other side of the parlor. “I suppose I do.” He snatched up a brightly polished walking stick from beside the bookcase. When Philippe leaned upon it, Louis saw it was a bit too short for his brother. He swallowed the bile in his throat when he realized it was most likely the Chevalier’s.

“That will do nicely,” Louis said evenly so as to give no indication that he was thinking of his brother’s lover. “Shall we go now?”

“I see no reason not to.”

***

Philippe pressed his teeth together until they hurt, and then he kept them there while he counted to five. He was still furious, but remaining silent wouldn’t do them any good, either, especially Louis and his ankle. “It’s been twenty minutes, Louis. We should have turned around five minutes ago. You’re going to double the time permitted if we don’t head back now.”

“But you said the new flower garden was worth seeing.”

“Tomorrow. We can have a carriage take us and then follow along to bring us back.”

“I would still prefer we manage as much on our own as possible.” Louis’s head twitched as though he wanted to look over his shoulder at Philippe, but dare not. _Can you blame him? You’re the one trying to ignore that you don’t know what to do with your own brother. You can't expect him to know what to do with you._

“Then a cart. I can drive a damned cart.” Philippe, in fact, rather wished he had a cart right now he could throw Louis in the back of. _So you could drive him home or ravage him on the spot?_ “Louis, please. We could still reach the gazebo and have someone bring the lounge.”

“I said I would rather we manage on our own. Or do you not wish to be so exclusively in my company?” Louis stopped and turned far too quickly. He teetered and Philippe reached out to steady him. As soon as Louis found his balance again, he shrugged off Philippe’s hands. “Yes. Let us head back to the palace. And when we do, I shall make ready to return to Versailles immediately.”

“You can barely walk with a cane. You are not fit to return if you wish for no one to suspect what happened here.”

Philippe had not intended his words to refer to anything other than Louis’s injury, but he could not fault Louis for also thinking about what else had happened between them. _Maybe you did mean that as well. Because you don’t think he’s ready to leave emotionally. Too bad you don’t know how to fix that any better than you can manage to heal his ankle._

“Enough,” Louis said. “I am going.” He shoved Philippe and took two steps in the direction of the palace. The third step landed awkwardly, and he would have fallen completely if Philippe had not scooped him up in his arms. Louis protested and struggled, and grimaced with pain, as Philippe carried him to the low stone wall encircling a new garden—Philippe couldn’t remember which one—that was being planted. He plopped down on the smooth granite, Louis wriggling on his lap like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Stop it, Louis. Stop it!” Philippe squeezed him tightly until Louis found it difficult to squirm and flail, except for his legs, but one smack of his bad ankle on the stone put an end to that. “You aren’t going anywhere, so stop fighting me.”

“You are the one fighting me,” Louis whispered. “I can do nothing right by your standards, and I will not remain here to be snapped at and tormented.”

Philippe changed his restraining embrace to a gentle hug. _Make this right. You owe it to him_. After a deep breath, Philippe said, “I’ve been thinking about that.” He paused, still uncertain if the admission he was about to make would show too much weakness and destroy his authority later, but whatever roles he might be willing to play with Louis, he was not going to lie. The truth, at this point, was his best hope. “There are two of us here, and I don’t think you can take all of the blame for this visit not being what you wished. I have not been as helpful as I might be. I’ve let my own desires and emotions get in the way. Stay, and let us see if we cannot do better. Both of us.”

“If I am to stay, perhaps I should not sit on your lap in the garden. While the king and his brother are permitted their eccentricities, this could be considered by some a bit much.”

Philippe smiled, the relief at Louis wanting to stay and work this out more overwhelming than he had expected. But he dutifully slipped Louis off his lap and scooted down so that Louis’s feet rested on his thighs. “So, how badly does your ankle hurt? Should I run up to the stable and grab a cart?”

Louis sighed and shook his head. “I do not think it is as bad as that. If we rest here a little longer, I think I should be able to make it back with the aid of your arm.”

Philippe flapped his arms energetically. “You may have your choice of whichever you prefer.”

“When we do return,” Louis began, but then stopped. Philippe patiently stroked Louis’s calves, having missed this intimacy the day before, waiting for him to continue. Louis jerked his head up to pierce Philippe directly with his stunning eyes. _Whatever he is about to ask, the answer will be “Yes.” I can deny him nothing at this moment, even though I think denial is what he yearns for. Wouldn’t do you any harm to restrain yourself, either_. “When we return, I would like to try again. I want to understand what I clearly missed the other night. Can you help me, brother?”

Philippe wondered if Louis could feel his prick twitching on the backs of his legs _. And yet, you know denial would be the better choice for both of you, you overindulgent fool_. “I would like to try,” Philippe whispered, his heart pounding. “I have an idea, if you are willing.”

“I place myself entirely in your control.”

Philippe could tell he meant the words. Whether or not either of them could make them true in practice was a wholly different matter.

***

Once Louis had been carried upstairs and settled in his bed, Philippe sent all the servants away. “His majesty requires rest; I will call for someone in a few hours to discuss supper. Until then, we wish to be left alone.” The servants in Louis’s chamber all nodded, bowed, and departed. Philippe locked the door behind them, but left the door connecting to his room cracked slightly so they would hear if anyone entered Philippe’s room or scratched at the door. _And now that we are as safe as we may be, let’s see if I can’t grant my brother some comfort._

“So,” Louis asked, his hands folded neatly on his lap as he perched against the headboard. “What did you have in mind?”

Anyone else in the world would have found his demeanor calm, even unconcerned, but Philippe saw Louis’s thumbs twitch. _He’s nervous. And God, so am I. Can he tell? Am I doing something unmistakable that he notices that I don’t? Never mind. Get on with it_. “You need to strip.”

“I do?”

“As do I. Yes. We should both be naked.” Philippe thought he sounded confident, but Louis still hesitated. Philippe took the few steps necessary to reach the bed, and when he got there, he stretched out his hand to Louis’s cheek. With a deep sigh, Louis sagged into the touch. “This is exactly what I want to do this afternoon.”

“Pet my cheek? Only naked?” Louis smiled, but did not bother to open his eyes, content at least for the moment.

“Exactly. I want to show you affection. And hopefully receive some in return. But I don’t want it to be particularly focused on either of us serving or being unequal, or to be sexual.”

Louis now opened his eyes and smirked adorably at Philippe. “Then would it not be a better idea to remain clothed?”

“No.” Philippe sat on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair off Louis’s shoulders. “I want us to feel each other—the other’s warmth—and for that to be a comfort. Sexual feelings may come from such beginnings, but I just want you as close as I can get you, so I may give you, Louis, the affection you almost never experience.”

Louis picked up Philippe’s hand from where it rested next to them on the bed and kissed the palm. “Help me with my breeches.”

Philippe nodded, unable to say anything. Instead, he simply went to work on Louis’s clothes.

***

Louis laid on his right side as Philippe billowed the white sheet over their heads. That completed, Philippe settled on his side as well, facing Louis, a heartbreaking smile curving his lips. Louis longed to kiss those perfect, pink lips, but Philippe had said they were not to have sex, and he was already painfully hard. He compromised and brushed his thumb across them.

That made Philippe smile even wider.

“There. Isn’t this nice?” said Philippe. “Just the two of us, hiding under the bedding where no one can find us and the rest of the world doesn’t exist?”

“It is not quite like when we were boys.”

Philippe slid the tips of his fingers slowly from Louis’s shoulder and across his nipple. Louis shuddered and closed his eyes. “No. No it isn’t.”

For a full minute or more, Louis remained with his eyes closed, impassive, as Philippe’s hand traced the lines of his body. He had been touched often by lovers and physicians, and when he was a boy, by his mother and nurses. Yet he had never been touched like this. Not reverently or timidly, but with affection and curiosity. This must be what normal lovers did regularly—explored one another with leisurely pleasure. In his life, Louis had been touched nervously or seductively. Philippe, however, moved his hand lovingly. Yes, lovingly. This was the touch of lust mixed with genuine caring poets spoke of, but which had always eluded him.

Louis opened his eyes so he might gaze upon his brother’s beauty. At the moment, Philippe was observing the path his hand made over Louis’s hip and down his thigh. His gaze matched the tenderness of his touch. He looked at Louis and not only saw a flesh and blood man, rather than a king, but he was pleased with what he saw.

Needing to feel Philippe’s flawless skin under his own fingers, Louis caressed his brother’s throat down to his chest. Philippe purred and tilted his head back to give Louis access to more of his soft, white skin. “You’ve such a gentle touch when you’ve a mind for it,” Philippe said. “I remember when you rubbed my legs once when I was sick until mother literally carried you out of my sick room so you would not become ill.”

“And I got sick anyway,” Louis remembered fondly.

“I sneaked into your room and returned the favor.” The hand Philippe had on Louis’s thigh drifted over to the small of his back. His other arm, Philippe tucked under Louis’s head so that they might embrace.

“We were such good brothers to each other for a time.” Louis wrapped his arms around Philippe and most of the lengths of their bodies touched. “But we are not what brothers were intended to be any more,” Louis whispered, no longer able in this tender moment to hide the one thing that still troubled him. “The world would call this a sin—perhaps the greatest sin. Does it not bother you?”

Philippe kissed Louis’s forehead. “My whole life is a sin according to most people. But God, and mother, made me who I am. If my very existence is a sin, then I am already damned.” He kissed Louis’s cheek slowly as his fingers traced the length of his spine.

“What about me?” Louis asked, his own hands now searching Philippe’s back. “Am I damned as well?”

“You are the King of France, divinely appointed by Almighty God. You cannot be damned.”

“But what about _me_ , Louis Bourbon, the man, not the King of France?”

Philippe’s gentle eyes met Louis’s frightened ones. His full, soft lips pressed against Louis’s thin mouth. “God made the man king. Your soul is already saved.”

“But what of yours?” Louis kissed his brother’s throat. “I do not wish to go to a heaven that does not include you. I would not damn you for the sake of my own happiness.”

“Perhaps my salvation lies in helping you. God may forgive my sins if I help Louis Bourbon so that Louis XIV may reign.” Philippe nuzzled Louis’s neck, while those delicate hands of his continued to roam, soft and warm over Louis’s body. “This may be my chance to save myself. You will not take it from me?”

Louis had been diligently ignoring his erection even as it brushed Philippe’s stomach. Philippe’s own erection, damp with pre-cum smearing Louis’s thigh, however, insisted upon itself. Louis found Philippe’s mouth and tried to kiss him passionately, but Philippe pulled back after the initial touch of their mouths. “You agreed to my rules,” Philippe said, a dry, gentle kiss landing on Louis’s jaw.

“How can you hold yourself back?” Louis asked as he tried to shift but not grind against Philippe’s body. “You’ve made your point, have you not?”

“I want you to know love that is in no way associated with your own demands. I want Louis Bourbon to know he is loved for his own sake. That my affection for him goes beyond lust and crown. He must understand my love is unconditional and disinterested. That he alone is the aim of my affection.”

All through this speech, Philippe touched Louis with hands and mouth in the most delicate manner. He kissed Louis’s earlobe for no other reason than because it was attached to Louis. His fingers traced the curve of Louis’s backside because it was a part of his body, as equally beautiful as arm, leg, or foot. It was sensual, not sexual, and that was exactly what made Louis want Philippe so desperately.

“I still cannot believe your control,” Louis said, before he took a moment to suck on Philippe’s throat, just under his ear. “Doesn’t this make you desire me?”

Philippe moved his mouth to Louis’s shoulder. He hovered there, lips parted and barely brushing the skin, exhaling warm breath. “Desire you? I want to rip you apart with my _teeth_. I’ve never desired anyone or anything more.”

“Then why not take me? Let me try once more to serve you.”

“No,” Philippe answered. After panting on his shoulder, Philippe kissed Louis there. “Today isn’t about sex or submission. I simply want to show you the merest bit of tenderness.” Philippe pulled him tighter, and Louis could feel the affection in that embrace that had nothing to do with their hard cocks rubbing against each other.

And they remained thus for a long time. They held each other and caressed until a sense of sublime peace washed over Louis. His body went limp and the points at which Philippe touched him became the only important things in the world.

 

* * *

 

Philippe’s hand slid around his brother, coming to rest at the small of his back. Without thought or guile, they had both been shifting lazily under the other’s touch, legs entwining until their hips could not but help roll into each other. Never before had they been so bare emotionally or physically to anyone, so artless and free in a way they had not even experienced in boyhood. And now Philippe pulled Louis closer, this moment of abandon as inevitable as tide or sunrise.

They pushed against each other like they had rubbed themselves on their mattresses at Saint-Germain when they were boys and did not yet know why they did so other than because it felt so different from everything else. But the simple friction of the other’s body, the warmth of caress and kiss melted all their thoughts of denial, submission, control, responsibility. It was the affection Philippe had spoken of made gloriously real.

They held each other tighter, Louis remembering Philippe holding him when they feared Saint-Germain was about to be overrun by nobles who wished them dead. Philippe buried his face in Louis’s neck and inhaled the sweet smell of him, clasping him more fiercely as he recalled being pulled away from his brother because little princes were not permitted to receive at court. Over and over, from their earliest childhood through adolescence and then adulthood, their story had been one of separation, either by those who claimed to be protecting them or love them, or because of their own stubbornness. Always before at their closest they had been parted, but here in this moment, laying under the white sheet illuminated by the late afternoon sun, no one stepped in to divide them. Louis and Philippe were left to clutch each other and press themselves into the hollow of the other’s hip until they panted against each other, one spending and then the other.

For longer than was safe, but for not as long as either of them wished, they breathed into each other’s mouths, their sticky and sensitive midsections still rubbing gently together. They whispered “I love you” through trembling lips brushing soft cheeks. But more than anything, for that afternoon spent rutting like teenagers under the sheets at Saint-Cloud, Louis and Philippe Bourbon were carefree boys enjoying simple, freely given affection neither had experienced in childhood.


	10. Chapter 10

_You should be happy. You miserable, selfish bastard. You should be happy for him._

“So, you see no reason why I should not ride to Versailles tomorrow, jump off my horse, and walk through the halls as usual?” Louis asked to clarify, as Philippe ground his teeth.

“Well, that might be a bit more exertion the first day than I would recommend, your majesty. After a long ride, I would suggest rest when you arrive, and only a moderate amount of walking the following day.” The physician smiled that condescending smirk of his, and Philippe wished he could smack him.

“Very well,” answered Louis, his smile true and pleased. Philippe, however, could not even manage a smile for show, even though it was a skill he had well practiced. _You should have been ready to look happy. It’s not as_ _though this is a surprise. Louis has been moving better and the swelling is down. Of course he is well and going back to Versailles_.

The physician nodded to them both as he straightened up, but Philippe did not bother to see him out of the parlor. _If he’s not smart enough to find the door after this many visits, I really don’t care_. But he also couldn’t stand by Louis’s side while he grinned stupidly (but not unjustifiably), so he walked to the doors overlooking the patio where he had set up the range that first day of his brother’s injury.

“What wonderful news!” Louis said. “I felt decidedly stronger when I stood on it this morning, but it is nice to receive confirmation from a medical professional.”

Philippe exhaled slowly. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

“What troubles you?”

“Nothing.” Philippe forced a pathetic grin to his lips, one Louis had surely seen too many times to believe, and faced back into the room. “Nothing pleases me more than the news you are well.”

Whether Louis truly misread Philippe’s feelings or chose to ignore them, Philippe could not say, but he undeniably pressed on as though he believed it. “We should head outside and inspect your gardens further before I leave. I have some ideas I would like share with you.”

Under any circumstances, these were words Philippe would not want to hear. When an idea popped into Louis’s head, one ignored it at one’s own risk, especially Philippe, who could not always count on having the money on his own for what he desired should Louis choose to stand in his way. However, Philippe had no choice but to listen to Louis, and likely little choice but to resign himself to whatever Louis suggested.

“Shall I get the cart?” Philippe asked.

“Actually, if I’m going to ride all the way back to Versailles tomorrow, I should probably get back in the saddle today.”

Philippe took a deep breath. “Very well, then, I will have two horses saddled and brought up to the house. Or would you prefer I roll you down to the stables on your lounge?”

Louis chuckled. “That sounds delightful, but I should walk.”

But in a fit of enthusiasm, an attempt to shake off the melancholy of Louis leaving, Philippe raced to the lounge and pushed Louis back on it before he had a chance to do more than sit forward. “No. I think I will push you out there, one last time.”

***

When they finally reached the new flowerbed Louis had wanted to see two days earlier when he fell into Philippe’s arms, Philippe dismounted. He realized it was a petty gesture, but he could not help himself. They had only just arrived, and he could see Louis already remaking the garden along the lines of Versailles. _Because France needs a hundred palaces that look exactly alike. He has his own home. Saint-Cloud is supposed to be mine_.

“A lake!” cried Louis from horseback as he pointed into the distance. “And unlike Versailles, you’re sitting right on the Seine. Water will be the easiest part of the undertaking.”

“And if I do not desire a lake? Or even a modest pond?”

“But surely you can see how ideal it would be in this location.” Louis squinted down at Philippe leading his horse on foot. “Mount back up. You will have a better view of what I am suggesting from a higher angle.”

“Or,” Philippe dragged out the single syllable as long as he could, “I just don’t want a lake.”

“Something has clearly gotten into you, whatever you may say. There’s no cause for your stubbornness.”

 _Except years of experience_. “It’s getting cold. Are you ready to head back?”

“The sun has merely gone behind a cloud for a moment. And we have only just arrived. I would like to inspect the garden for a time.”

Philippe would like to forget this day had ever happened, and instead return to what they had enjoyed the previous two. Their afternoon in Louis’s bed—the memory still left him breathless. He had never felt so close to another person, so in love and in rhythm. That night they had talked and sipped wine, and then gone to sleep together in Louis’s bed, completely clothed, but in one another’s arms.

And yesterday had been more of the same bliss. Nothing had happened in a significant sense, just two people reveling in shared company and brief, affectionate touches and light kisses. Once more, they slept, only slept, together in Louis’s bed. Philippe had begun to wonder if perhaps this was all Louis had actually required—genuine affection, not particularly rooted in sex. If that were true, Louis was ready to return to Versailles, as happy as possible, and Philippe should be glad for him. _But what if Louis needs more? God, what if I need more? Not that it matters. Louis may have said he longed to serve and be guided, but he is healed and ready to depart_.

“Do whatever you wish,” Philippe answered once he could get around his own thoughts. “In the end, you always do.”

***

Once more dressing for supper had become an awkward affair. Because Philippe said he intended to continue refusing help, Louis had felt unable to ask for it himself. That left him at his brother’s mercy, and Philippe seemed to have run out of that particular emotion. If anyone at Versailles, servant or courtier, had yanked his collar so relentlessly, Louis would have had the man dismissed. If Bontemps would have allowed the man to live long enough for dismissal. That thought made Louis grin, which only made Philippe more savage with the waist of Louis’s breeches.

“You can get the shoes on your own, I’m sure,” Philippe said, turning to finish dressing himself without Louis’s help. Of course, what Louis could have easily done was put on his own breeches and tie his own cravat with the aid of a mirror. Getting his foot into a shoe was one of the few bits of his preparations he would have gratefully accepted help with. And unlike previous nights, he needed to get shoes on, because rather than eating in Philippe’s room, Philippe announced they would be going down to the family dining room as they had that first night when Louis could manage steps with ease.

So, he sat on the edge of his bed, his shoe in hand, and wriggled it on. His ankle was not swollen, and the pain had subsided when he did nothing to aggravate it, but that was precisely what he was doing now. However, he would not ask his brother for help, particularly since Philippe only appeared interested in his own reflection.

Gritting his teeth, Louis pushed, and finally the shoe went on. In that moment, though, he wondered how he and Philippe might be able to get back to where they had been the previous two glorious days for this last night. He had never been so at ease in his mind and heart. The original hope of experiencing true submission had never been achieved, but Philippe had helped him find carefree moments in which his responsibilities fled. And that was not a small thing. Louis would cherish that sensation, that gift Philippe had given him, for the rest of his life. He just wished he could make Philippe happy this last night, but he simply did not know how.

“Are you ready?” Philippe asked into the mirror when Louis had slipped on his other shoe.

“I am. I would appreciate your arm on the stairs.”  
  
“Then I supposed you shall have it.”

Louis said nothing, now lowering his hopes for the evening to merely avoiding a fight. Instead, he rose, a pleasant crease to his lips, and led the way out of the door, Philippe following. He did not pause until he reached the top of the stairs, where he rested his left hand on the banister and held his right arm up for Philippe to take. Philippe took the proffered arm like a gentleman, but not at all like a lover. Perhaps it was better this way. Louis knew what they had shared at Saint-Cloud would never be repeated, and that once he returned to Versailles, he and Philippe would have to act as though none of this had ever occurred when they saw each other again.

“Are you going to return to Versailles soon?” Louis asked when they hit the turning of the stairs.

“I had no intention to. My plans here were rather abruptly altered.”

Louis forced himself not to squeeze Philippe’s arm more tightly. He wanted to scream an apology and a plea they not return to where they had been that first night. At least Philippe had not worn a dress again to anger him. Although, he had looked stunning. Louis felt sick. “I would like you back at court.”

“But I have so many improvements to oversee to my grounds. I feel as though I really should stay and make certain they are carried out correctly.”

Louis said no more as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He had hoped he and Philippe would stay hooked arm-in-arm all the way into supper, but Philippe dropped his arm and then clasped his hands behind his back. It was going to be a long meal.

“I’m certain you will be glad to return to Versailles where you can control everything being done to your home.” Philippe said this as he swept to the far end of the table where his place was set. Louis sighed and gave a significant look to the servant patiently waiting at the door to bring them their meal. He then glanced at his own place setting with a scowl, and as he had that first night, he marched to the other end and sat at his brother’s right hand.

“I would have thought you understood at this point my desire to cede control on occasion, brother.”

“I thought the occasion had passed,” answered Philippe. “You seemed more than happy to control your own travel plans, my gardens, and even how I serve a meal in my home. I thought the old you had quite enthusiastically asserted itself.”

“I have to go back. Surely you appreciate that fact. And are you actually upset that I made some suggestions about your garden? If you do not care for them, you are free to ignore them.”

“You never _suggest_ ,” Philippe said as a soup bowl slipped in front of Louis. He looked about to say more, but stopped. It took Louis a moment to puzzle it out, but he thought he could guess what Philippe was not saying.

“You thought you could tell me when I could go? Is that what is troubling you?”

Philippe’s face contorted through several unpleasant configurations before he finally settled on a manic grin. “That would be absurd. Me, telling the King of France, what he may do.” He lifted his spoon to his mouth and ate with exaggerated moans of pleasure. “Delicious soup, though. Mushroom. I believe it’s your favorite.”

Louis had not paid any attention to the food placed in front of him until that moment. It was, indeed, mushroom soup. Philippe well knew how he felt about cooked mushrooms. He dropped his spoon into his bowl without bothering to taste it, and instead drank some wine, a very dry red, even though Philippe knew he preferred sweet. Yes, this would be an extraordinarily long meal.

The soup was soon taken away, Philippe’s bowl scraped clean and Louis’s still full. More food Louis disliked was brought to the table, but unlike the first night, no alternative was offered. Louis merely smiled as plate after plate was removed either entirely untouched or only briefly sampled. Philippe grinned and made loud noises about the deliciousness of everything.

And then Louis decided that if this were to be his last night at Saint-Cloud, his last night truly alone with his brother, he would speak some truths that had been bouncing around his head. He did not see that he had much to lose. “I honestly did not intend to upset you when I made my suggestions about the gardens. I just wondered if you had thought of all the possibilities.”

Philippe dramatically chewed the fish in his mouth, swallowed, and chased it down with his fourth glass of wine before answering. “Yes, it is vital you point out to all of us peons what only you are gifted enough to see. We should feel blessed.”

“I had hoped you might take my words in a kinder light tonight. You know I meant well, and I would never think of you as a peon.”

“Well, now that is _very_ kind.” Philippe finished his wine and held it out for a refill. Louis waited, debating if any words he might speak would do anything other than make the situation worse, but knowing Philippe was more unlikely to say anything that would help. Still, he had gathered no suitable words when Philippe finished drinking half of his new glass and started speaking once more. “I see what I see, Louis.”

Louis sat back, not understanding what his brother meant. “And what is that?”

“What is near. What I have in my hand, or at least close enough to grasp if I’m quick enough. And, trust me, I’m quick. I have to be.” He stopped to drink more, eyeing Louis over the rim of the glass with a look that indicated he had not finished yet. “It’s something I learned from mother. Not to dream or desire or see the larger picture. But to be content with the small things within my tiny sphere. Do you understand me at all?”

Louis did, shockingly well. This confession of Philippe’s, the realization for Louis, it changed everything. “She taught me the exact opposite. Never be content with what you have. Strive and desire for more. If you have everything you want, invent new desires. Dream bigger and broader than everyone else.”

Philippe nodded. “Exactly. She made us this way. She made it so we could never understand each other. So we would always be speaking different languages.”

“I am sorry she did that to you.”

“Why feel sorry? I don’t mind it so much. It means I learned contentment you will likely never experience, and let me tell you something, Louis—feeling contented is wonderful. Not wanting more and being constantly dissatisfied is glorious, and I’m thrilled I have the capacity to feel it. Besides, it’s what makes me a good tactician, if not a brilliant strategist. And the world, or at least you army, needs all the good tacticians you can find. Trust me.”

“But not a better strategist?” Louis said in what he hoped came across as a lighthearted tone. He sighed with relief when the corner of his brother’s mouth turned up.

“Oh, we are led by a magnificent strategist. As I’ve said before, he’s so good he knows the outcome before the first shot is fired.”

“You understand why I did that, do you not?”

Philippe shook his head, his hair slipping over his shoulder and across his chest. “I told you—I can’t see what you see. In that way, I am as utterly blind as a newborn kitten.”

“Would you like me to try and show it to you?” Louis asked, aching for Philippe to say, “Yes.”

But this day was not one for Louis to win any victories. “No, thank you. I don’t think we are capable of showing each other anything. I believe we can blame mother for that as well. Which is good. That way we can still think well of each other while not being able to communicate. It is better than the alternative, don’t you think?”

Louis inhaled deeply through his nose, hoping rather than expecting it to calm him. “The alternative is the two of us spending time together in conversation, trying to help and understand each other. The two of us putting behind us everything our mother made us that we no longer wish to be. The alternative is the two of us growing closer. I cannot believe you do not want that.”

Philippe slapped his napkin on the table and shoved back his chair. “Of course, you cannot believe that. You have made my point quite eloquently.” Peering down at Louis who still sat, he added, “I am tired. It has been an extremely long day. I shall retire now. If you need anything else this evening, do not hesitate to call for a servant to help you.”

Louis’s mostly empty stomach clenched around the bile inside it as he watched Philippe walk out the door. He closed his eyes and remembered their afternoon under his sheet. Philippe’s face glowing, his body warm and smooth, and Louis’s heart paradoxically as full and light as it had ever been. It would be glorious to leave Saint-Cloud with more, but he could content himself with this memory. He chuckled out loud when he thought the word “content.” Philippe had been both right and wrong. Louis did not understand contentment well, because he had only felt it once. And now he wanted it again more than anything. The only question was how he would strive and push and reach to get it.


	11. Chapter 11

Philippe did not come to Louis’s room the next morning for breakfast. He failed to visit at any point while Louis packed with the help if his guards who knew better than the men on Philippe’s staff how the horses would need to be loaded for the journey. And Philippe continued to stay away when Louis sat down in the parlor to eat lunch. Finally, Louis asked the servant who brought his meal about his missing brother.

“His highness went to walk the grounds early this morning and has yet to return.”

“When do you expect him?”

“The schedule of Saint-Cloud is rather…erratic.” Louis glared at the servant, who swallowed uncomfortably. “That is to say, we often do not know when to expect Monsieur. He did tell everyone, including the cooks, that as soon as you depart, we are all dismissed for the remainder of the day, and he does not wish to see anyone until tomorrow afternoon.”

“I see,” Louis answered, dropping his gaze back to his food. “Does he often give such orders?”

“Giving staff the night off is not uncommon. But demanding everyone leave is new. The kitchen staff is doing everything they can to leave him enough food he can eat without preparation. And, of course, decanting a great quantity of wine.”

“Of course.” Louis sat silently, not eating. The servant, who he thought was named Renaud and had served in the army under Philippe, stood ramrod straight, awaiting orders. “Do you worry about your master when he behaves thus?”

“I always worry about his highness. He is a great, but troubled man. I would do anything for him.”

Louis looked up to the man’s face and saw nothing but the truth there. It pleased him greatly to know his brother had such a loyal man at his side. “Please send for my brother. Search wherever you must and use any words necessary to persuade him, but bring him here. I do not wish to leave without saying goodbye.

***

Louis paced the parlor until his ankle began to ache. He examined the bookshelves, but nothing interested him there. _The Song of Roland_ , he assumed, still lay somewhere in Philippe’s bedroom. He contemplated going up to get it, more for the sake of having something to do than a desire to read it.

Striding from one end of the room a final time, Louis plopped at Philippe’s writing desk. It was a mess of letters received and half composed, broken quills, and ink stains. Digging down a layer he uncovered a blank sheet. Opening the top drawer, he found ink and a quill in a reasonably useful state, as well as a pencil. He gathered his supplies and took them to the table outside on the patio. The view afforded many worthy subjects, and he finally settled on a graceful little fountain with a statue of Cupid and Psyche.

Louis lost himself in his drawing, capturing the passion of the embrace of the lovers, as well as what surrounded them, his belief stronger than ever that lovers forget the world around them at their own peril. He was so intent on perfecting the background leaves, in fact, he did not hear Philippe approach until he said, “I thought you intended to leave early enough there would be no threat of having to ride in the dark.”

“I had a sudden urge for art,” Louis said, finishing a bit of shading before dropping the pencil. “And to say goodbye to you.”

“I promise you, that was unnecessary.”

“I do not agree.” Louis rose, and Philippe stood so close he wouldn’t even have to stretch to brush his cheek with his fingers.

“Well, goodbye then,” Philippe said without even acknowledging the tension pulling between them. Louis normally understood his brother, even when everyone else in the world misinterpreted his every move and motivation. But at this moment, Louis did not know how to break through Philippe’s impossible exterior.

“You can send me away so casually? After all that has happened and not happened and been spoken of? Without ceremony, you will put me on my horse and watch me ride away completely unconcerned?”

“I wasn’t going to bother watching, but if you would prefer, I’m sure it will be no trouble.”

Louis shook his head, but refused to be the first to look away. Yet Philippe held just as steady as he so often did. “You astonish me. I came here because I trusted you, and now you treat me more coldly than ever before.”

“You think you can no longer trust me?” Philippe said, no hint of ice in his fiery voice. But just as swiftly as the tide of his anger rolled in, he let out a long breath that utterly deflated him. “Actually, you never _really_ trusted me. Which is why your visit was a complete failure.”

“How can you say that? I know you felt what I felt. How can you look back on the afternoon we spent in my bed and call that failure?”

“It depends a great deal on the goal when you’re discussing failure. Perhaps you do not recall why you came in the first place.”

Philippe licked his lips and stared at Louis’s mouth as he finished this little speech. Louis wanted to grab him right there on the patio and kiss him, the servants and anyone else who saw them be damned. But not taking control had been the goal, and he would only harm his cause if he tried to force his lust. There was nothing Louis could do to help achieve what he still wanted so desperately. Philippe finally had all of the power, and the only thing left for Louis to do was depart in defeat, his relationship with his brother never worse and unlikely to ever be repaired.

Louis lowered his eyes. For several heartbeats he stood rooted, unable to leave or speak. But remaining was untenable, so go he must. He jerked to a start. “I will be on my way, then. Be well. I hope to see you at Versailles soon.” With only a brief glance, because he could withstand nothing greater, his eyes flickered to his brother and he hurried past Philippe and made for the stable. His guards were surely where he had ordered them hours earlier so they might be on their way immediately.

***

_God has never designed a more impossible creature than Louis Fucking Bourbon!_

These words echoed in Philippe’s mind as Louis left, just fucking _left_ , abandoning Philippe, alone and broken. There had been a moment, no longer than it took Philippe to draw a breath, when he thought he could reach out and take Louis in his arms and beg him to stay one more night while they tried again. But even though Louis had been the first to look away, something that never happened, Louis had still managed to declare his intent to leave, and then he did so. In that brief pause, Philippe had even started to lean toward Louis, but he could not get there in time to stop Louis. _For the best. If he wanted to get away so badly, I wouldn’t want to try and keep him here_.

So Philippe remained on the patio while Louis made confident, swift strides to the stables. And as he continued to swear about Louis’s impossible nature, he saw the drawing on the table, held in place by the inkpot, one corner fluttering in the slight breeze. Philippe forced himself to move, to take a step closer and see what Louis had been drawing. Always a gifted artist, Louis’s simple sketch was moving, although unusual for him, less strictly representational than his typical style. Even though Philippe knew the fountain well, he peered across his patio and lawn to Cupid and Psyche, then back at the paper. Louis had drawn their kiss much more passionately than the sculptor had depicted it.

Philippe wanted to run after Louis and stop him, literally pull him from the saddle if need be. When he turned to the stables, he saw Louis and his guards mounted and starting out. Philippe held his breath, torn between sprinting after his brother and screaming at him to stop, or doing nothing. _You really can’t run after him and beg, though, can you? If the point is he needs to cede control, it will do him no good if you give it back. You finally have the power, and you can’t use it to do anything other than watch him leave_.

Tears formed in Philippe’s eyes when Louis turned his horse onto the path that led off the grounds of Saint-Cloud and to the road he would take to Versailles. But he did not let them fall. Perhaps later, but not now. He still had servants to shoo away before he could be entirely alone. And maybe then he would cry. Or perhaps he would just get very, very drunk.

***

The last of the kitchen staff refused to go until Philippe ate a filet and some potatoes in what he had to admit was a delicious cream sauce. He suspected the cook really did care about Philippe being properly fed before he left, and with Renaud hovering in the background, the cook was especially enthusiastic. Touched by their concern, Philippe politely ate everything placed in front of him, having the meal a small enough sacrifice to make before his solitude commenced.

Once alone, all the cooks and stable boys and gruff old soldiers gone, he decided he would remain inside. Even though the evening was warm, he yearned for the level of isolation that dissipated out of doors. And so, from the kitchen where he ate, he walked through the dining room. How similar yet utterly different, especially in tone, had their two meals in this room been. He brushed his fingers along the back of the chair where Louis had sat next to him. Obviously, it was only his imagination, but he thought he could still feel the warmth of Louis’s body on the cushion.

Being where he had so recently spent time with Louis both held a strong allure and repulsion. Should he go to the parlor, stretch himself out on the lounge and remember how beautiful Louis had been laying there? Or should he spend the night in the other wing plucking tunelessly on the harp in the music room before propping his feet up on a card table with a book from the library? He did not know yet, but one compulsion within him was strong and clear, so he would start there.

Climbing the stairs, he tried not to remember the drunken silly climb they had made the first night before Louis had hurt himself. That had been a simple, joyful moment, which, of course, Louis had ruined when they were undressing. But if the past week had taught him anything, it was that he and Louis could ruin absolutely anything.

Entering his room brought back stronger memories, the best and the worst of their time together. _I’m definitely not coming back here tonight. There are…I don’t even know how many bedrooms in this palace. Surely I can find one to sleep in_.

If he could sleep. But that was a problem for hours from now. At this moment, he needed to do something about the fact he couldn’t see anything. He lit an oil lamp on the bedside table without the special treasures, and opened his wardrobe. Stripping out of his shirt and breeches and all the rest, he stood before the door naked. He wouldn’t be able to put himself together properly, but he could manage well enough to creep alone through the dark hallways of Saint-Cloud.

He started with a soft shift that felt both reassuringly familiar and erotic. It felt so comforting, in fact, he stopped to just breathe in it, rubbing his hands over his stomach and thighs, his sides and chest, letting the fabric on his skin calm him. Still focusing on the feel of beautiful clothes on skin, he found his softest silk stockings, and sat on the stool of his dressing table so he might tie them above his knees. Then he put on a single petticoat and the silver silk skirt before searching out his new black dress, thankfully returned as good as new from his dressmaker in Paris. All of the fasteners in the back were beyond him, but he managed to drape it around himself and pull it closed in the front. Even though he was only half formed, he felt beautiful. Slipping into black satin shoes helped cover the incompleteness and he was ready to go.

After sucking in great lungfuls of air he would not have been able to take with the dress on properly, he returned to the table with the lamp. Unlike the delicious and rare Bordeaux in the other table, this one held several bottles of serviceable wine and glasses he would not miss if they broke. Having only two hands, he did not bother with a glass, taking the first full bottle he found in one hand and picking up the lamp in the other.

Rather than descending the main staircase, he remained on the second floor, his slow steps muffled by the thick rugs. Not long ago, this hall had been overflowing with vapid, but extremely pretty, young men who all indulged in the Italian Vice, all of whom had been sent away by Louis. Behind each of these doors at this time of day, they would have been giggling as they readied for supper, each man taking twice as long at his toilet as necessary so as not to interrupt the endless sexual games. Philippe had learned much from playing those games in his life, but they had not served him well, as he had failed to reach his brother.

At the end of the hall, he paused to survey his grounds through a window taller than he. He could see the path he and Louis had ridden the morning after the storm when he had his accident. Philippe had been telling Louis about his lovers, never dreaming Louis was about to become one. Philippe set the lamp on the sill so he might uncork the wine. Throwing the cork away, he drank for a long time without pause. When he admitted defeat—he would never drink enough to forget that conversation—he plucked up the lamp and swept down the stairs.

But he moved so quickly and he must not have closed the door of the lamp securely, and the flame blew out a few steps down. Philippe stopped, willing his eyes to adjust, but what little light came through the window at the top did not illuminate the way down very far, and the windows at the bottom did not penetrate up. He could probably find his way back to his room, the one place he could be certain to find a tinderbox, or continue down. He knew where he could find what he needed in the parlor, and his memories of that room were less agonizing than the bedroom. Clutching his skirt in his fist around the wine bottle, he slowly made his way down.

_This is just like Louis’s dream, the one we were discussing when he fell off his horse. Only I’m the one wandering the halls of a dark palace entirely alone. Louis was worried his dream might be prophetic, but would he have been as concerned if he’d known the prophecy pertained to me instead of him?_

By the time Philippe came down from the last step, his breathing had turned ragged, and tears had formed in his eyes. He was alone, and he had lost every shred of love and closeness he would ever share with his brother. Light would help him, the diffuse moon and starlight seeping through the windows only bringing a deeper melancholy. Praying his staff had done their jobs as well as usual, he walked as quickly as his shoes and rustling skirt would permit, assuming the way ahead was clear.

He made it successfully to the parlor, although he smashed his shin into the very table with the tinderbox. “Fuck,” he hissed, although he did his utmost to convince himself locating the table was a triumph. Gritting his teeth, he relit the lamp, finally sighing in relief.

_You big baby, afraid of the dark. There’s far more scary to see in the light. So what if you’re alone? Before you knew Louis was coming and had sent everyone off, you had been pleased with the idea of a few days by yourself. And you don’t even have to be alone now. You could go into Paris or send to ask people to come. No, you clearly wish to be on your own. The only thing you can’t say is if your desire is a natural longing for a break from company or self-punishment._

Hoping something might distract him in the card room where Louis had not gone his entire visit, Philippe took another deep drink from the bottle and gathered the lamp and his skirts and departed the parlor. And yet every step felt more and more like he had entered Louis’s nightmare. The hall was broad, his shoes clicked on the floor, more dark instead of moonlight came through the windows.

And then he thought he heard a door close and someone speak him name.

_God! Maybe I am asleep. Maybe I will wake to find Louis’s entire visit was a dream. Or at least that his leaving was._

He walked on, but once more he thought he heard his name being spoken, still from somewhere far off, but closer, as if he was moving toward the voice.

Louis had thought the same in his dream until he fell into a pit. _This cannot be real. Perhaps the wine is going to your head, because no one is here saying—._

“Philippe.”

He nearly dropped the lamp and bottle as he whirled around. _How is this…?_ “Louis?”

“I got half way to Versailles and we stopped to rest, and I realized I had to come back.”

The words sent a thrill through Philippe’s body, but it was not until Louis started to walk down the hall toward him that Philippe could believe it was his brother, returned to him.

“I sent everyone away so I could wallow in misery, but here you are!”

Louis came to a stop a couple of feet from Philippe. He was disheveled, his hair wild from riding, the white lace at his throat mussed. But his smile would defeat the sun itself. “You are so beautiful,” Louis said.

“You came back!” was all Philippe could think to say, knowing it was inadequate, but unable to marshal his emotions into finer words.

“I still need you. I wasn’t ready to go back. You knew that. I’m sorry I didn’t. It’s not too late, is it?”

“You came back,” Philippe whispered. He thrust the wine bottle into Louis hand. “Hold this.” Louis took the bottle, and Philippe used his newly freed hand to take a great fistful of Louis’s hair and pull him into a kiss. Louis sagged noticeably, and Philippe yanked him back up, unable to resist a chuckle. “You came back,” he said into his brother’s mouth.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to put REM "Nightswimming" on a loop while reading this chapter. That's pretty much how I wrote it, especially the Epilogue. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading!

It was with a trembling hand that Philippe led Louis up to his bedroom. Everyone was gone—Louis had even sent his guards to the local inn when the gatekeeper had said all the staff had left. And yet Philippe did not want to take his brother in a fit of passion right there in the hall or even in the parlor or any of the other rooms they walked past. No, he wanted to do this in a proper setting, where they had spent so much time trying to get this right.

When they entered the bedroom, Louis set the wine down on the table just inside the door. Philippe looked at him with a calm, but raised eyebrow. Louis picked the bottle back up. “Where would you like this?”

Philippe kissed Louis, slow and deep with all of his tongue as he put the lamp on the now empty table next to the door. “It goes in the table on the left side of the bed.”

Louis waited for Philippe to release his hold on his arm and then walked over to the other table. In the meantime, Philippe went to the table of treasures and pulled open the top drawer. He saw the ties and remembered that Louis had left them on top the day he had discovered them along with Philippe’s other toys. Philippe considered them, but then looked at his brother and had a far better idea. He closed the drawer without removing the ties but with a jar of oil and a phallus with a slightly curved head.

Louis saw what Philippe carried, and Philippe didn’t bother to hide his smug grin as he made his way to the foot of the bed. As Louis walked around to join him, he asked, “Are you going to prepare me to fuck me again?”

The excitement with which Louis asked the question nearly convinced Philippe to change his plans, but he remembered they were here for a purpose, which he must fulfill. Sadly, that did not include fucking his brother in that particular manner. “No.” He dropped the phallus and jar on the bed when Louis reached him so he might pull his brother into a loose embrace of roving hands. “We need to be clear about something.”

Louis brushed his lips against Philippe’s. “Yes?”

“We are about to begin something, and once it starts, you cannot end it. I’ll fight you if you try. You must grant me complete control now for the entire night. This is your last chance to change your mind, because when we begin, I will not stop.” Philippe gave Louis a wet, openmouthed kiss. “Do you agree?”

“Yes. I give you absolute control of my body and my mind. I will do as you wish.”

Philippe fought the urge to wrap up Louis tight and kiss and hold him until the world came falling down around him, because that was not what Louis needed now. _Snuggles and kisses were all well and good a few days ago, but we’ve graduated to something a bit more…forceful. Either Louis truly gives himself completely to you now, or you will never figure this out for him. Your brother needs you._

“Strip,” was all Philippe said, as he broke off all physical contact.

Louis took a staggering half step back and began to undress himself. He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his jacket, but it wasn’t until he slipped the long length of lace from his throat that Philippe smirked. He picked the lace up from the bed and twisted it absently through his hands. Louis, of course, saw what Philippe was doing, but he continued fulfilling his orders without comment.

While Louis finished with his breeches and stockings, Philippe perched on the edge of the bed and started oiling the phallus. Louis twitched, Philippe was certain with pleased anticipation, but remained silent. _He’s really doing remarkably well._

When he stood naked before Philippe, Philippe nodded and raised an eyebrow. “Very good. I’d like to give you a present for coming back to me.” He pulled Louis to kiss him and then reached behind, slowly pushing the phallus inside Louis. In this case, Louis could not keep silent, especially when the curved head rubbed so sweetly across that spot within him.

“Oh, God! Philippe.”

Philippe kissed his brother’s trembling lips. “Turn around.”

Without hesitation, Louis did as commanded. Philippe lightly ran his fingertips over Louis’s left wrist, and as he did so, he reached down and took up the lace from the bed. Swiftly, he yanked both hands behind Louis’s back. Louis jumped, but Philippe squeezed his wrists. Leaning against Louis’s back, giving no heed as to whether or not what he was doing caused him pain, Philippe whispered, “You said I could do anything I want.” He began tying Louis’s wrists together at the small of his back. “And this is what I want—you, unable to get away.” He pulled the knot as tight as he could without cutting off the blood flow, and then more sucked than kissed Louis’s shoulder blade. “I also want you on your knees.” Philippe spun Louis around, and with a firm hand on his shoulder, pushed Louis to the floor.

Louis turned his face up to Philippe, who could not help but run a thumb back and forth across Louis’s lips while studying his eyes. At this point, he looked a bit at sea, yet excited at the prospect. _Good. I don’t want him afraid, just utterly compliant_. He pulled down Louis’s bottom lip. “The only problem with getting you in this position is having to undress myself. What do you think?” Philippe asked as he slipped the dress off his shoulders. “Do you wish you could have your hands on me now?”

Louis licked his lips and moaned. “I love touching you. But I also love doing what you wish.”

Philippe stepped out of his dress. “What a good answer.” He unhooked his skirt and petticoat and let them fall to the floor, and then he pulled his shift up to his knees. “If you’d like, I’ll let you remove my stockings with your teeth.”

Louis dived in, his teeth grabbing the end of the tie holding the left stocking up. His aggression and obedience, coupled with the feeling of his lips on Philippe’s thigh reminded him just how ready he was. As much as he wanted to tease this out for Louis, he didn’t know how long he could last. Lacing his fingers in Louis’s hair, Philippe tried to just revel in the feeling of the hair, but no matter how much he tried to concentrate on something else, he didn’t believe his prick could withstand Louis accomplishing this task.

But just as Philippe was ready to pull his brother’s head to where he wanted it, stocking be damned, Louis squealed in triumph, and then managed to start rolling the stocking down, silk tight between his lips. Philippe raised his leg to help, but when Louis had it to Philippe ankle, he had to stop because Philippe had never removed his shoes.

“Well, that is inconvenient,” Philippe frowned. He dropped his foot and then toed off one shoe and then the other, as well as the stocking Louis had almost removed. Standing in one stocking and his shift, Philippe decided that was good enough.

He began by running his hand up and down Louis’s throat, sometimes squeezing just a little to see what reaction he got, before once more moving his thumb back to Louis’s mouth. After a few light swipes, he pushed his thumb in deep with no warning. “You’re about to get considerably more whether you like it or not.” He removed his thumb from Louis’s mouth and shoved that hand into Louis’s hair. With the other, he pulled his shift up to his waist and over his prick so he could thrust it deep into Louis’s mouth.

Even though Louis gasped and didn’t know what he was doing, the wet warm of his mouth felt glorious. Philippe slowly pulled back a bit, but not far. “Lips over your teeth and relax your throat.” Louis managed the first part, but then tensed more than ever. Philippe yanked on Louis’s head rather than moving himself back and forth. “Trust me. You’ll enjoy this more if you relax. But whether or not you do, I’m going to use you no matter what.”

And slowly, Philippe moved himself and Louis, gaining speed and depth as he could, probably pushing too quickly for Louis’s comfort, but knowing they both needed it to be like this. Philippe forced himself into Louis’s moaning, drooling mouth with more intensity. _Louis needed to submit to someone else’s control, but I didn’t realize how much I wanted it to be me. For me to be the master of my own destiny where Louis is concerned. Louis is in the room, and yet my choices matter. I matter_.

Furiously, Philippe fucked his brother’s mouth, wanting to cow him and please him at the same time. And it felt so good to have Louis on his knees, his mouth around him, wanting him. Philippe began to shake and thrust harder and yank Louis farther down his shaft until his prick was banging against Louis’s throat. Louis’s throat spasmed and he let out a long, plaintive whine as Philippe tugged his hair and pulled and thrust and trembled himself and whimpered and finally spent.

***

Louis was both numbed and overwhelmed with sensations. If he hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have collapsed. As it was, when Philippe let go of his hair, Louis crumpled against the bed, unable to even support himself on his knees. He had no control over his muscles or his mind. He could not move or think or speak. It was glorious.

Even his eyes would not stay open, so he felt but did not see his brother sink to his side on the floor and wrap an arm around his shoulders. Philippe pulled him close, kissing the top of his head where it rested on his chest. “You spent,” Philippe said with a hum. It took Louis a moment to process what Philippe was talking about, but he felt the stickiness on his stomach and remembered not being able to control himself when Philippe used him to his own completion. He’d had no control, either over Philippe or what his own body had done. He had never felt so perfect.

“Let’s untie you and get you cleaned up,” Philippe said. He reached behind Louis and found the end of the lace, releasing him. Louis whimpered, already missing the restraints he had not known he needed, but even worse, understanding that what had happened was coming to an end. In a sort of protest, he kept his hands behind his back.

“Can you lean forward?” Philippe kissed Louis’s forehead so softly, his lips more delicate than any flower in the gardens of Versailles. With his brother’s help, he shifted, and Philippe removed the phallus. Louis trembled, but Philippe pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“You’re so perfect, Louis.” Philippe pressed his fingertips to Louis’s chin so as to lift their lips together. The kiss started delicately, no more intrusive than how you might kiss an old friend. But soon they opened their mouths together, tongues slipping across and around each other.

“Help me out of this,” said Philippe. They broke apart just enough for him to wriggle out of his shift. He then started using the beautiful fabric to wipe Louis clean. The process was slow—Philippe in no rush and both of them constantly distracted by kisses. But once he was clean, made new by his brother’s love, Louis wrapped his arms around Philippe’s waist and held him close, reveling in his skin and warmth.

Petting Louis’s hair with one hand, Philippe squeezed him tighter with the other. “I’m so glad you came back.”

Louis thought he could literally feel his heart breaking, the pain in his chest real. But he fought back the tears, wanting nothing to spoil this moment for Philippe, even though it was flying away from him with every breath. “As am I.”

“That is what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

Philippe’s voice had a hesitation now, and Louis knew for certain he had put it there, not covering his own melancholy sufficiently. “It is more than I wanted, because I didn’t fully appreciate what it would be.”

Forcing his face up again, Philippe studied Louis and then kissed him gently. “Then why are you sad?”

“Because even though I came back tonight, tomorrow I must go. I have spent too much time away already. And…,” Louis paused to gain command of his voice. “And this can’t continue. I will return to Versailles, you will stay here, eventually we will see each other at court, but it will never be like this again.”

Philippe smiled before he kissed Louis, his mouth open and breathing into his brother. No matter how tightly Louis now grasped him, it did not feel like it was enough. Nowhere close to being enough.

Philippe brushed the hair from Louis’s face and somehow he continued to smile as though he could not feel the loss Louis experienced. “Always looking further into the future and seeing what others dare not. But for tonight, you are still mine, Louis, still in my control.” He paused to press more light kisses to Louis’s lips. “And that means you must see the world as I do. See what is here now. See that a night you will remember for the rest of your life when you are at your lowest and need to be reminded of love and affection and beauty, is not yet over.”

Louis melted into his brother and kissed him once more.

* * *

 

# Epilogue

The brothers made their way down the staircase together one last time. They were not dressed in the finest clothes in all of France, but instead walked hand in hand, naked, unashamed not merely of their bodies (which neither of them were) but unashamed that they hid nothing of themselves from the other. Neither could remember having ever been so entirely at ease, the experiences of carefree childhood too far away to recall now.

They stepped together into the parlor, both with eyes drawn to the lounge. Louis smiled at the furniture—his memories of lying there, Philippe caring for him, would remain some of the strongest of his visit until his dying day—but he did not go to it. Philippe’s momentum continued across the room, and the bond between them pulled them together so that Louis could not go in any other direction. Tonight, they could not be parted.

When they passed through the doors from the parlor to the patio, Philippe moved slightly in front, leading Louis gently by the hand. The sky above them shone with a bright moon and shimmering stars, which neither noticed so much as they felt. As they moved under this light, Philippe never broke his gaze at Louis, and his smile did not falter. So intent were they on each other, in fact, that they reached the pool before either of them expected.

They paused at the edge to enfold one another, to lose themselves once more in deep kisses and the sensation of flesh brushing against flesh. But the water called to them, offered to refresh them and carry their weight so that they might, if only briefly, be just Louis and Philippe, two men with no cares in the  wide and troubled world that demanded men of vision and action. They stepped into the water, hands clasped, eyes locked. Once they had waded in up to their waists, Philippe slipped his hand loose and pushed off. He only swam a few strokes before turning back and laughing with a light heart. His mirth was contagious, and Louis could only follow, broad smile as natural as breathing.

Frolicking like boys they had barely been allowed to be, they splashed and tugged on each other’s limbs, occasionally becoming entangled. In these moments, it seemed the only way to untie themselves was another kiss—long and deep or swift and playful, but always with an abundance of affection. Both had so much tenderness stockpiled inside themselves, especially Louis who had been taught to mistrust genuine caresses, but the water leeched love out of the one and then let it seep into the other.

They swam to the far side of the pool, stopping in a shadow, Philippe holding the edge for support, Louis holding Philippe. Once more they kissed, no longer merely exploring each other’s mouths anew, but returning to favorite places. It was unhurried, for they had all night, and they would not look beyond and have a single second stolen from their enjoyment. And after they kissed until the water stilled around them, when Philippe needed to touch Louis with both hands, he clasped Louis fully and without missing a breath, Louis took his turn holding them up.

Later, when they had their fill of remaining stationary, they pushed off again in tandem for the middle of the pool, their spirits high as they had not been in many years. Swimming on their sides, they embraced, legs kicking against each other as they rolled in a spiral, kissing and laughing through the water tinged with the lights of the night sky. They swam thus, entwined, bliss propelling them across the surface, until they grew tired.

And what did the brothers do when they became exhausted with joy? One of them—perhaps Louis, perhaps Philippe, they could not remember in later years because it did not add or detract from the memory—slid from the other’s arms. Still clutching hands, they floated on their backs on a moonbeam that seemed to have become a part of the water much as they had. Their faces were turned toward each other, contentment flooding them both as much as the water penetrating their skin.

How long they floated there—who can say? In literal fact, it may have been one minute, one hour, or the night entire. More importantly for both Louis (who had decades of difficult ruling before him) and Philippe (a man destined to live always with battles raging inside him), later in life when they yearned for a release from cares and responsibilities, in their minds, they floated there still.

 

The End


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